


Hermione Mendonica and the International Wizarding Octoth Race of 1994 + 4th Summer

by HornedSerpentNine



Series: Veela's Omen Chronicles [5]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alfā/Gamma/Delta + Epsilon Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, Multi, Smut later in, i will try my best, this year it starts getting darker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HornedSerpentNine/pseuds/HornedSerpentNine
Summary: Year Four at Hogwarts; there's trails and tribulations on the path of love for Hermione!





	1. It Seems Like Everyone's Moody

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter, nor do I own any lore I found in the Wiki pages/Pottermore.  
My wonderful Beta is Rencae!  
Also, I use Google Translate,  
Also-Also, I attempt to upload on/around Saturday (Eastern Coast time)  
Also-3x, all comments and suggestions are welcome! (I always reply back!)  
Also-4x, I have a VOC Companion series (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580833)
> 
> The first part of the chapter gets heated [in the way ya'll probably been waiting for, ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets a little action before starting school!

Hermione can’t help but let out a startled gasp, and Delacour’s enraged expression drops blank. Glowing, dark-red raptor eyes replace cerulean-blue ones. The space around them has once more gone silent, and Hermione stares up into True-Veela-Delacour’s eyes. Slowly, the talons retract to neatly trimmed nails.

»Is Delacour still listening?« Hermione whispers, and True-Veela-Delacour nods.

»Yes.«

»And is she angry?«

»Yes.«

»Why?« She knows she’s taking advantage of Delacour, but this is her chance to get some answers from the ornery Veela Alpha. True-Veela-Delacour shudders a little, and drops more of her weight on Hermione, now heavily straddling her. Hermione has to force herself not to lick her lips as an inner fire threatens to bloom under her skin.

True-Veela sniffs, and a smug smirk grows on her face.

»What will I get in return if I answer?« She croons, sliding her hands across Hermione’s clavicles, her fingers catching on the fabric of Hermione’s shirt. Blushing, she grabs True-Veela-Delacour’s wrists before those hands decide to travel south. A tugging, uncomfortable pulsing begins to pound between her legs.

»You _and_ Delacour—«

»_Fleur_.« The Veela Alpha accents her order with a sudden jerk of her hips, making an embarrassing whine tumble from Hermione’s lips. Ignoring the shit eating smirk on succulent lips, Hermione sits up abruptly. True-Veela-Delacour gasp turns into a purr when her hips lock against Hermione’s, and they accidentally grind against each other.

That pulsating heat bites at her, and she clenches her eyes shut to not succumb to the sensation. Biting her bottom lip hard, Hermione keeps True-Veela-Delacour’s wrists trapped in her grip, and levels a serious stare at the Veela Alpha. The affect is lost when the succubus on top of her moans, fluttering her eyes as she flushes all the way to her shoulders.

Hermione’s mouth runs dry at the disheveled sight, and an image of Delacour—no—_Fleur_—under her, writhing as she screams as she becomes undone—

»_Oh!_ Y-y-yes, Alfā! _Alfā!_« True-Veela-Fleur groans, her body going limp against Hermione’s as she shudders. Hermione growls wordlessly, not realizing she was projecting those images. True-Veela-Fleur crosses her legs around Hermione, and she instinctively flips the Veela Alpha on her back when True-Veela-Fleur’s mouth latches onto her neck.

Hermione’s suddenly on fire, and only True-Veela-Fleur’s mouth can quench it. She loses herself when teeth dig into her flesh, and she slams True-Veela-Fleur’s hands over the Veela Alpha’s head. Her pheromones and Thrall gush out, smothering True-Veela-Fleur, who keens shrilly, trying to curl up from it’s thick pressure.

She bites down on the reddened ear, and True-Veela-Fleur arches, detaching her flushed lips with a guttural moan. Lust-hazed, pure cerulean-blue eyes lock with Hermione’s dilated amber-brown eyes, and Fleur moans, her pheromones and Thrall finally breaking free. When they sink their hooks into Hermione, she’s overwhelmed by the pulsating, _throbbing_ in her core, and she rolls her hips into Fleur.

The Veela Alpha’s aggressiveness translates to her sex life, and she bucks hard, trying to flip them.

»Still angry?« Hermione pants, dragging her tongue harshly in the shell of Fleur’s ear, causing the Veela Alpha to twitch, whimpering hotly.

»I-I don’t know?« Fleur moans, her hands straining against Hermione’s hold. In response, she grinds her hips down, and Fleur lets out an obscene sound that inflames Hermione’s all consuming _need_.

»You _want_ me, I _know_ you—«

Hermione’s seductive purr is quite rudely interrupted when the top half of their tent gets ripped off.

* * *

It takes them a second to realize that they’re in the midst of a battle. It takes them another second to realize that their foreplay is over, and they have to fight whilst still aroused. Leaping up, they spring into action as if they’ve fought together for a life time. Fire rains down from the sky, tents go flying, and black robed people clog the pathways.

Hermione howls a challenge, Fleur echoing her, and they charge into the fray. Her magic and Thrall thrashes the black robed attackers, but still they keep trying to fight. A piercing whistle-scream slices through the screams, and Err’sh descends from the night sky. A black robed figure howls when the Lammergeier plows into his face.

*Err’sh! Keep my pack safe!* She caws, and he nods, soaring away. Flinging a black robed figure over a a row of tents, Hermione glances back at Fleur. The Veela Alpha moves like a predator, her limbs lithe and strong. Her expression is one of excitement, as the thrill of the hunt courses through her.

It just inflames Hermione even more, and she wants to take the Veela Alpha right then and there. Fleur looks up, and her eyes widen. Hermione whirls around at the last second, swinging her leg in a swift hook kick. A black robed figure staggers backwards, clutching his head.

Hissing, she prowls forwards, curling her fingers. Her Cursed Fire awakens inside already existing fires, and they rise high in pillars of light. Most of the black robed figures freeze at the sight, and Fleur appears at her back. With a viscous smirk, Hermione thrusts her hands forwards, and her Cursed Fire pillars slam down.

She doesn’t realize she’s laughing as her Cursed Fire spill onto the ground, rushing around tents like a molten river made of snakes. When the black robed figures realize there’s no hope for them here, they turn and run. Sensing the fear mounting in her prey, Hermione starts to give chase, but Fleur lets out a startled cry.

Whirling around, she tackles the Veela Alpha as they’re bathed in sickly green light, her Cursed Fire caging over them protectively. But the light isn’t from an Unforgivable, but from the sky. Peering up, Hermione gasps when she sees a starry green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.

The screams that had been dying down start up again from the forest, and Fleur growls. Standing, Fleur grips her hand tightly.

»Let’s get rid of it,« The Veela Alpha bares her teeth at the Dark Mark as she weaves her magic and Thrall in Hermione’s. Hermione nods, and aims her other hand at the dark magic. Her Cursed Fire pillars lean up, swirling into a thick, writhing column of power that funnels higher to touch the stars.

When her Cursed Fire breaks through the Dark Mark, the resounding _BOOMSH! _of magic ripples out in heavy waves. The skull screams as it’s torn apart, her Cursed Fire making short work of the dark magic. Lowering her hand, she pulls her Cursed Fire in, the fire swiftly siphons back down and snuffs itself out.

Panting quietly, Hermione looks down at Fleur in the quiet of the night, their magic withdrawing from each other. Yet, their Thrall’s stay, meshing as they entangle with each other. With a jolt, Hermione’s reminded of her lingering arousal when Fleur’s Thrall dips between her legs. A smug smirk plasters itself on Fleur’s face, and she takes a step forwards.

»So, you’re an Alfā?« Fleur drawls, and Hermione lunges forwards. They tumble to the ash and blood coated ground, rolling as they grabble for dominance. The Alpha Veela suddenly bucks her hips up, and Hermione’s breath catches. In her moment of weakness, Fleur flips them, and straddles her back.

»I fucking hate how good you look right now, submissive and vulnerable,« Fleur husks, and lithe fingers close around the back of her neck, fluttering warningly. The other hand holds a fistful of Hermione’s shirt, twisting it very uncomfortably. Hermione’s body sags into the ground, embracing Fleur’s weight and it sends a flush racing along her skin.

»What did I ever do to you?« Hermione grunts, choking a little when those fingers clench down. Her core clenches around nothing, and Hermione holds in her groan. The hold on her shirt is released, but the Veela Alpha merely slides her hand under the fabric to claw at flesh.

»You exist,« Fleur hisses, leaning down as her nails leave white abrasion as she pulls down. Hermione can’t help but let out a small whimper, and Fleur freezes. Her breath warms Hermione’s ear.

»You _ruined_ me, Alfā, from the moment we first locked eyes.« The Veela Alpha hisses quietly, and she tilts Hermione’s head to the side so they can look at each other. Cerulean-blue eyes dance in the starlight.

»And I hate you for it.« She whispers, throwing herself off Hermione. She gasps, coughing as she breaths heavily. Getting to her feet slowly, Hermione faces Fleur.

»Do you speak for your other half?« She asks, and Fleur scowls, then grimaces.

»I—_we_—are in an agreement.« Fleur grits out, and Hermione raises an eyebrow. A distant flare of red light and yells sound some ways behind them. Looking over her shoulder, when Hermione turns back around, Fleur is gone.

* * *

Stalking over to where the light was, she sees a shadow figure dart into the woods, and then crouches when a wizard she recognizes as Alpha Amos Diggory passes her. He’s carrying an unconscious Poppy, who holds a wand in her hands. Creeping forwards, Hermione spies twenty Aurors and other Ministry officials surrounding Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Harold, Luna, and Err’sh perched on the Gamma’s shoulder.

≠ “Hey!—That’s mine!” ≠ Harry exclaims. Bartemius Sr. whirls on him.

“_You!_ So you—”

“How _dare_ you! Harry didn’t cast the Dark Mark and _shame_ on you for blaming _children!_” The shrill, furious off voice of Lily Potter spits behind Amos. Hermione snickers when he jumps. Bartemius Sr. looks properly chastized when Lily rushes over to Harry, fussing over him.

“Er—Who’s your master, Elf?!” Amos demands.

“Master Crouch, sir! Poppy’s on loan to Mistress Black!” Poppy cries, and tries to plead her case. Her attempts are futile, as Bartemius Sr. frees the House-Elf.

* * *

Hermione’s waiting for the Hogwarts Express with only Err’sh. She ignores the lustful stares, confused whispering, and the general babble of the crowd around her. Her recently bought Hogwarts robes look too pristine—her trunk shrunken in her pocket—and she hears the mutters wondering about her identity. Rising her eyes to the sky, she recalls the last few weeks of the summer.

After tailing her pack to ensure they make it back to Arthur Weasley’s tent safely, Hermione is left to find her own family. Err’sh rejoined her when she started pinging sharp notes in Velian. Settling in a tree for the night, she waited for a reply, pinging for any Veela to hear. But no responses came.

In the morning, Err’sh woke her up, and she trudged to where the QWC entrance was. The crowds parted for her, all of them trying to obtain their own Portkeys off the moor. Pinging once more, Hermione tilted her head, and waited.

»_PING_.«

There, a reply. Hermione hurried toward it, and lurched to halt when she beheld Eto. The Veela Alfā’s burgundy-red hair was dulled with ash, a dark bag ringed her eye, and her half mask was scorched-stained. Her mother looked ragged. Entering Eto’s circle of empty space, Err’sh whistled gently from her shoulders.

Hermione took Eto’s hand, and they had Side-Apparated back to the Mendonica Palace. She had Cobra bring her many newspapers from various Magical communities, many of them spewing about the incompetency of the British Ministry. Rita Skeeter had even managed to whip out an article about “_The Seven Pillars of Life!_”.

And then, two days before term started, Eto had told her about the event at Hogwarts.

»The I.C.W. has decided to revive the International Wizarding Octoth Race, although under a whole new set of rules; the first being only those of age may participate.« Eto had said. Meaning Hermione was eligible.

The Hogwarts Express blows its horn, and Hermione blinks, returning to the present. Boarding the train, she has to duck through the doorway and corridor, and lower the arm Err’sh is perched on. Like Hermione, he’s actually been getting bigger as well. Further down in the corridor, she sees the Weasley twins, yelling with their heads out the window.

The train picks up speed, and Hermione turns when she feels a weight latch on her side.

“Hello to you too Astoria,” She smiles. Stroking white-blond hair, she knew she’d be recognized immediately by the sharp nosed young Alpha. Astoria looks up at Hermione with wide eyes, her nostrils flaring slightly. Hugging Hermione tight, a rumbling sound deep in Astoria’s throat akin to purring sounds.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione scratches the young Alpha’s head, the rumbling growing louder.

“Astoria!” Daphne’s frantic voice makes her look up. The Beta sprints towards them, her eyes locking on Hermione. A flurry of emotions flash over the Beta’s face before she reaches them.

Exasperation. Relief. Desperation. Anger. Horror. Protectiveness. Guilt.

Astoria growls softly when Daphne pulls her away, still looking up at Hermione. Daphne steps forwards, planting herself partly in front of Astoria.

“Sorry about that—she’s missed you.” She says breathlessly, and Hermione gives an amused smirk.

“I can tell.” They start walking, looking for other Slytherins in the compartments. Daphne keeps looking up at her.

“Say it already.”

“When you’d get so bloody tall?” Hermione shrugs.

“Blood gene defection.” Daphne snorts unbelievingly. They enter Draco’s compartment, and Hermione’s year mates’ jaws drop when they see her. Sliding into the compartment seat, she stretches out her long legs as much as she can. Daphne claims the seat next to Hermione, but loses her grip on Astoria when she sits. The young Alpha leaps onto Hermione’s lap, pressing herself against Hermione’s torso.

And just like that, her year mates are over their gobsmacked shock. Daphne scowls, opening her mouth, but shuts it after a second of contemplation. Err’sh flaps onto Beta Tracey’s lap, settling down for a nap, making the Beta preen with pride and awe.

Astoria starts rubbing her cheek against Hermione’s chest, that purring sound coming from her again. Daphne looks down right scandalized, but Hermione finds it endearing.

* * *

It’s raining hard, lightning flashing in the distance. In the Great Hall Hermione idly strokes Astoria’s hair as she stares out the window. In the reflection of the glass, she can see the empty seat where the DADA Professor usually sit. Finally, the First years arrive like drowned rats. She notes that one is particularly soaking; stuffed in Hagrid’s oversized coat, and bares a painful resemblance to Colin Creevey.

The Hat sings it’s song, and the Sorting begins. She pays some attention to it, but not much. Hermione only perks up when she hears Omega Taziah Roani’s name.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat cries, and Hermione looks over to the Hufflepuff table, seeing Peter’s happy face as Taziah joins him. Pansy sneers as Colin’s little brother, Denis Creevey, is Sorted as a Gryffindor as well. Then the feast beings, and Astoria—who situated herself on Hermione’s lap—inhales her food with a vengeance.

The young Alpha’s increased clinginess has Hermione double and triple checking that her Thrall is under control.When the feasting begins to die down, Dumbledore steps forwards to speak. He says the usual, until the very end.

≠ “It’s painful for me to admit, but the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will be canceled this year.” ≠ There’s outrage at this news.

“Starting in October, Hogwarts will be hosting—” The Great Hall doors slam open, a short, fat, scared up man with one wooden leg and a large wooden staff hobbling towards the front table. It’s his eye that really defines him—sharp bright blue, unblinking, rolling around in his head.

Hermione scoffs at his appearance. Eto wears the one-eye ascetic _way_ better.

“Alpha Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody!” Omega Tracey hisses. Dumbledore introduces him as the new DADA Professor, and most of the Slytherins scowl.

“As I was saying, Hogwarts will be hosting the International Wizarding Octoth Race or I.W.O.R. of nineteen-ninety-four for the European Slate schools,” Hermione drums her fingers on the table. She inwardly smirks, imagining the student’s faces when they realize she’s eligible. Then again, most already think she’s older than her year mates.

“This being said, the European Slate Champions this year will only include students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and Durmstrang Institute, as the Koldovstoretz will be unable to participate due to an unfortunate inflation of Dragon Pox.

“For the American Slate, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting Uagadou School of Magic, Mahoutokoro, and Castelobruxo. There will be Three Tests to determine the Champions to represent each school. From there all seven Champions will compete in the Last Test to reveal the final Champion of the I.W.O.R.,” Dumbledore says with a flourish.

He then goes on to inform them about the new age limit and the magical counter-measures to ensure it. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive in October on Halloween, and stay for the rest of the year. Dumbledore pauses his speech to look at his wand.

“Oh pip! Look at the time! Off to bed now!”

* * *

“Miss Mendonica, come with me.” Professor Snape appears behind her, glaring down at Astoria. Prying the young Alpha off, she follows him up to Professor Dumbledore’s office. Inside, Professor McGonagall and an Unspeakable from the Ministry are waiting.

“Professors?”

“Did you have your chronological age checked?” Professor Snape says without preamble.

“Yes sir, I am seventeen.” Hermione says. Professor Snape nods, producing a letter from his sleeve to hand over to the Unspeakable.

“This is the copy that Madame Mendonica sent to me with evidence.” He says. The Unspeakable merely holds the sealed letter up to the light, then tucks it in his pocket.

“You’re good to go Miss Mendonica.” He says, dismissing her.

* * *

After collecting the pus from really odd plants in Herbology, Hermione wishes for an easy class in Care of Magical Creatures. Of course, that’s not the case, as Hagrid introduce Blast-Ended Skrewts to the curriculum. She’s not sure what to make of the weird looking creatures.

As Hagrid describes the lethality of the creatures, Hermione gets out her Dragon-hide gloves, the other students following suit. Hermione picks the biggest one, and with a wave of her fingers, she levitates a few few frog livers in front of the thing. She’s unsure how it can eat if it has no mouth.

Feeling her classes are for the day are on a trend for the worst, Hermione takes her time walking to her DADA class. Halfway up a staircase, she pauses when she hears Draco reading out loud. Vincent and Gregory flank him as he reads from the _Daily Prophet_, Ron, Harry, and Neville clustered around him.

Draco grimaces, when he finishes, and Harry pats a red faced Ron on the back.

“If you want, I can talk to Aunt Bella about getting Sskeeter off—” Draco starts to offer, but Ron interrupts him.

“It’s fine.” The Beta snaps. Draco crosses his arms.

“I’m jusst trying to help—”

“Well no one asked you too!” Ron growls, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Come on Weassley, we’re a pack, sso we ssupport each other! I mosst ccertainly won’t allow any of my pack matess’ names to be bessmirched—”

“Oh cause that’s all you care about Malfoy! Pride and superiority!” Ron spits, his insecurities of his family coming to the fore. Draco scowls, and students pause as they watch the duo’s argument getting louder. Ron sneers, and pivots on his heel to stalk away. Draco’s clutches the _Daily Prophet_ with white knuckled hands now.

“For Merlin’ss ssake Weassley, grow a pair!” Draco shouts at Ron’s back, thrusting the _Daily Prophet_ roughly back into his robes. From her angle, the newspaper looks like the outline of a wand.

≠ “OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!” ≠ Professor Moody roars, his off-kilter clunking signaled his arrival, his wand rising at Draco. It switches something in her, for suddenly, she’s face-to-face with the scarred Alpha before he can register her presence. Her hand clenched tightly around his bony wrist. His spell splatters harmless against torch, turning it into a mink.

She floods the air around Moody with her dominant Alfā pheromones, staring down at him with hard eyes as his knees start to buckle. The thought of the Alpha, the supposed _Professor_, aiming his wand at one of her pack—_infuriates_ her. Snarling, she squeezes his wrist tighter.

She hears a crack, and his wand clatters to the stone floor as his hand goes limp. He slams to his knees, sweating profusely and panting as he struggles to defend himself with his pheromones. She sneers.

“Transfiguration was banned as a punishment years ago.” Hermione growls tightly. She stares at his magical eye, subtly layers her magic over it, concealing herself from it’s gaze.

“In fact, it’s illegal and punishable by Azkaban.” Her cold words register within the Alpha, for he freezes. The familiar sound of footsteps slips through her protective surge. Reigning in her pheromones, she drops Moody’s wrist disgustedly. He lunges for his wand, standing as he digs it into the side of her neck.

“What is going on here?!” Professor McGonagall pushes her way to the front of the crowd. The torch-turned-mink scampers over her shoes, and she shrieks.

≠ “Moody—_is that a student?!_” ≠


	2. Drink From His Goblet If You Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Goblet of Fire shall chose the worthy!

Moody growls, digging his wand harder against her neck, and Hermione hisses softly. Professor McGonagall nearly has an aneurism from the sight.

“_LOWER YOUR WAND THIS INSTANT ALISTOR!_” The Beta woman skrieks, and the students watching jump at the shrill tone. The Alpha begrudgingly does, still baring his teeth at Hermione. Professor McGonagall storms over to him, her face pinched with rage.

Swinging her hand, Hermione thinks she’s going to slap Moody, but she snatches his ear, pulling it sharply.

“I HAVE _NEVER_—HOW _DARE_ YOU THREATEN A STUDENT AT _WAND POINT_—DUMBLEDORE _SHALL_ HEAR OF THIS—THE _MINISTRY_ SHALL HEAR OF THIS—” Professor McGonagall’s screaming at the Alpha, her strict composure being replaced with all the fury of a mother Lioness protecting her cubs.

“—I ALWAYS DEFENDED YOUR INSTABILITY—BUT NEVERMORE—YOU LISTEN _HERE_—IF I EVER HEAR OF THIS AGAIN—REST ASSURED I’LL USE EVERYTHING WITHIN MY POWER TO HAVE YOU LOCKED IN THE BOWELS OF AZKABAN BEFORE YOU CAN EVEN SAY ‘_CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_”

The Beta woman’s enraged pheromones filling the hall, and Moody cowers under her infamous glare. A wide, excited smile breaks out across Hermione’s face at the sight. Professor McGonagall pants, then straightens her spine imperiously, still keeping her fingers latched onto Moody’s ear.

“Miss Mendonica, were you hurt at all?” Professor McGonagall asks, and Hermione shakes her head.

“No Professor,” She says, and Professor McGonagall nods.

“Good,” She looks around at the watching students.

“Dismissed.” The Beta orders, and everyone scrambles to obey.

* * *

The Fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors wait for Moody to arrive. It’s already been ten minutes, and the Alpha was still being detained by Professor McGonagall. Hermione yawns, subconsciously rubbing the spot where his wand dug into her flesh. Daphne looks up at her, concern dancing in her eyes.

“Does it hurt?” She whispers, her fingers brushing over the small, Knut-size bruise. Daphne’s touch sends a little shiver down Hermione’s neck.

“No,” She says, gently threading their fingers together to distract the Beta. It works like a charm, for Daphne flushes, staring at their interlaced hold. The reason she hasn’t healed the bruise is because she wants Moody to see it and remember what she did to him.

As if her thoughts summoned him, the seething Alpha slams into the room. It cuts off all sound from the students. Pacing, Moody jumps right into his rant-slash-lecture about the Unforgivables. And try as she might, Hermione can’t help but be morbidly fascinated by his knowledge.

When he pulls out three spiders to demonstrate on, Hermione leans forwards interestedly.

“Remember, ≠ CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” ≠ Moody shouts.

“_Imperio!_” He points his wand at one of the spiders in his jars, making it dance above the students. The Slytherins are the only ones not laughing. Hermione knows the weapon against the Unforgivable is an iron will. Or extreme paranoia. Moody takes out another spider, and enlarges it.

“_Crucio!_” The spider starts screaming, spasming, and everyone goes still. Hermione stares at the thrashing spider and she’s . . . Disappointed. No physical damage is being done to it, for the Unforgivable attacks the nervous system through the mind. If someone _Occuled_ their mind, they could defend against the Unforgivable. Not to mention the Curse itself lacks the imaginative flare.

Daphne glances at her, and squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“The last Curse, is instant death; one that no one has ever survived.” Moody growls, point his wand at the screaming spider. With his eyes on Hermione, he utters the Unforgivable.

“_Avada Kadavra!_” The flash of green light fills the room. Startled screams sound from students throwing themselves to cover. Hermione stares at the spider, tuning out the lecture. She wonders how he isn’t affected by the Curses. To cast an Unforgivable, there has to be a certain intent behind them.

You have to want to _control_ completely, you have to want to _torture_ wholly, and you have to want to _murder_ mercilessly. Not to mention the euphoria after each one. Hermione remembers the rush after casting one, and she licks her lips at the spark of hunger for it.

Moody suddenly orders them to line up, and with a wicked grin, he tells them what he’s going to do. Hermione stiffens when he casts the _Imperius Curse_ on Blaise. The Omega flinches, but falls to the floor, crawling around like an insect. No one’s laughing now.

Moody sneers, and releases Blaise, Draco and Theodore immediately gathering the mortified Omega in their arms. As Moody goes through the Slytherins, Daphne’s shivers increase and Beta Tracey’s fists clench harder. Hermione wraps her arms around the Beta’s, holding them close and misting out calming Alfā pheromones.

All too soon, it’s Daphne’s turn. Hermione snarls silently as the Alpha casts the Unforgivable. Daphne shudders, then yanks on Hermione’s tie. Jerking down, her lips meet the Beta’s.

* * *

Daphne moans, her lips working furiously against Hermione’s closed ones. Hermione pulls away, holding the desperate Beta away from her. She glares at Moody, her snarl and Alfā pheromones swelling as Moody makes Daphne lick and suck at Hermione’s wrists.

Letting out an enraged roar, Hermione slams her Thrall across the vile Alpha’s face. He flies back into a row of desks, his wand flying away. Daphne gasps, and she becomes deathly still. Half the class stare at them while the other half watch Moody groan and struggle to rise.

Daphne slowly unlocks her jaw from Hermione’s wrist, her tongue almost darting out to lick the reddened mark instinctively. The Beta ducks her head, and her breathing becomes ragged.

“Ma Tigresse, [My Tigress],” Hermione murmurs, but Daphne lurches away. Sobbing, she sprints out of the classroom. Hermione takes a step forwards, but Beta Tracey places a hand on arm. Draco, Blaise, and Theo race after her, calling for the Beta.

“She’s going to need a little space,” Beta Tracey says softly, and Hermione nods dumbly. She doesn’t know how to fix this.

* * *

The next weeks blur by, time slipping through Hermione’s fingers. Daphne still hasn’t been able to even look at Hermione, and has started hanging out with Pansy. Hermione knows Daphne will come back, but it’s the matter of _when_ that irks her. She also can’t help but notice Pansy’s increasing touchiness with Daphne, for the Alpha always finds Hermione’s gaze when she’s doing it.

If Luna wasn‘t always with her now, Hermione’s not sure what she’d do wipe the smug grin off Pansy’s face. The Gamma’s randomly clingy again, and she seems to stare judgmentally at Daphne whenever they cross paths. After swerving around each other awkwardly—Luna staring shrewdly at Daphne and Pansy—Hermione taps the Gamma.

“You’re making Daphne uncomfortable.” She says as they walk to the Library. Luna shrugs.

“The Mad Child is twisted, but she needs to chose her decisions quickly.” Luna says dreamily. Hermione surmises “the Mad Child” is Luna’s name for Moody. Thinking it over, she rather likes it.

“What decisions?”

Luna ignores the questions, replying with:

“He’s a very, very sick soul. He frightens me.” She says airily, ending the conversation. Sitting at their table near the back, Err’sh appears just as Hermione sits down. Luna coos to the Lammergeier, and he preens under the attention, shoving his cargo carelessly at Hermione.

Picking up the slim, black box, she opens it to reveal a wickedly sharp blade. It’s end curved with a little sharp jut at the tip like a fishing hook. Like her own wand. Holding it up, the blade and hilt are solid onyx with a raven head imprinted on the but of the hilt speaks for itself.

Hermione spins the blade between her fingers experimentally, the afternoon light glinting off the blade. It comes with an thigh sheath, and Hermione clips it on.

* * *

Her birthday finally catches up with her, turning her “fourteen”—really eighteen—but it’s unnoticed in the excitement of the new arrivals arriving a fortnight away. Walking towards the Slytherin Common Room, she stumbles as a it feels like something’s release from inside her.

Hermione leans against the cold, smooth wall, gasping as the warmth that enveloped her since her arrival fades. Lingering only in the recesses of her memory. Hermione stands as the feeling passes, and she looks down at her chest. She can feel the bond that she had with Eros finally heal over completely.

A sense of serenity fills her, as the bond coils upon itself to keep from being plucked again.

“Hermione?” A nervous voice asks. Hermione looks up, seeing Daphne fidgeting a few meters from her.

“I . . . I want to say I’m sorry for my weird ac—oh!” Daphne gasps when Hermione sweeps her up in a tight hug. The Beta body releases its tension, and Daphne sags into the embrace, nuzzling instinctively under Hermione’s chin.

“I missed you.” She mutters, and Daphne whines.

“Me too.”

* * *

Hogwarts is bursting with excitement on the thirtieth of October. The Professors scuttle frenziedly through the halls making sure everything is impeccable. Every portrait is rewaxed to obscenely brilliant, much to their annoyance. Giant banners of each House hang over their table in the Great Hall, and a larger one with the Hogwarts crest hangs behind the High table.

Everyone leaves classes early, gathering in rows of years in front of the castle. Standing with the Seventh year Slytherins since she’s so tall, Hermione spots the Beauxbatons first, looking up to the speck in the sky. It grows larger, as a large flying carriage comes into view, pulled by Abraxan horses.

The front three rows scramble backwards as the huge carriage comes crashing against the Courtyard cobblestone. The Abraxan’s rear, snorting as they stamp their dinner-plate size hooves.

A Beta boy in blue leaps out, unfolds a set of small steps, then standing to attention. A large shoe steps out, and then followed by the rest of the Half-Giantess Headmistress, Alpha Madam Maxine. There are gasps from the Hogwarts students. The tall Alpha sweeps the crowd with thinly veiled distain, her eyes snagging on Hermione before moving on.

She’s greeted by Dumbledore, and then beckons forth twelve boys and girls, all of them shivering in their blue robes, and staring at Hogwarts. Hermione smirks when she sees spots her nieces.

»Where the hell are you Tante? [Aunt?]« Annie growls in Velian, and Hermione snickers. The Seventh year next to her give a side-eyed look.

»If you look up, I’m here,« She chuckles, the twins’ eyes snapping up towards hers.

“Hey, is it just me or do those two look like Hermione?” Millicent mutters from down the line. Annie and Claire roll their amber-green eyes, and continue with the rest of their delegation. Surveying the Beauxbatons students, Hermione recognizes the Duceau cousins . . . And Fleur Delacour.

* * *

Hermione can’t keep her eyes off Fleur as she lingers with Katie with the rest of the Beauxbatons students. Daphne shifts next to her, sliding more into Hermione’s side. The Durmstrang students are here, having arrived from their magical ship. Apparently Victor Krum is among their number.

When Dumbledore sweeps into the Great Hall, Madam Maxine starts to guide her students towards the Ravenclaw table. The Alpha woman just doesn’t expect Hermione’s nieces to skip towards the Slytherin table. She also doesn’t expect them to subtly—although rudely—push Daphne and Beta Tracy out away so they can claim seats next to Hermione.

The rest of the Beauxbatons follow Annie and Claire’s lead, leaving Madam Maxine fuming but unable to do anything. Fleur choses the seat farthest from Hermione, using Katie as a physical barrier. Hermione resists the urge to use her King of Slytherin status to make the Slytherins around her move away.

The Durmstrangs chose to sit with the Ravenclaws, and their Headmaster, Alpha Karkaroff looks around with a sneer. Hermione can practically feel the Alpha trying to glare everyone into submission. The pompous Alpha joins the other Heads at the High Table. Also at the High Table, Bagman and Bartemius Sr. are here as impartial judges.

Dumbledore claps his hands, and the feast begins. The food is a mix of French and Bulgarian national foods, and Hermione heaps some of the Bouillabaisse onto her plate. Claire nudges Hermione, a gleam in her eye.

»You knew about this didn’t you?!« She exclaims. Hermione smirks.

»Eto told me,«

»No fair! If we had known we would of asked for better clothes!« Annie says, mockingly outraged. Fleur, sitting down further down the table looks up at Hermione, her eyes narrowed. Katie nudges her, and they delve into their own conversation.

“**Excusez-moi, as-tu fini avec la bouillabaisee?** [Excuse me, are you finished with the bouillabaisse?]” Kate calls from next to Fleur, and Hermione passes it down. Annie gives Fleur a mild look of annoyance.

»You know Delacour?« She asks.

»We’ve met,« Hermione replies. Claire gives her a look.

»Hermione, the Delacour’s are one of the more . . . Progressive families pushing Veela’s to make more ties with the Wizarding people––«

»––to become less secretive!« Annie cuts in, narrowing her eyes at Fleur, ignoring the scowl and swat from Claire.

“Um, Hermione, care to introduce us?” Pansy says sharply. Annie smiles down at the Alpha, showing a bit more teeth than necessary.

“I am Alpha Annie Mendonica—” Annie starts.

“—and I’m Beta Claire Mendonica—” Claire says,

“—And we’re Hermione’s nieces.” The say in chorus, smirking as every Slytherin’s jaw drops.

“I _knew_ those eyes looked familiar!” Daphne mutters.

* * *

Silence settles when Dumbledore stands up.

“There will be three Tests in total, each will be rigorous and dangerous, and each will be held in different parts of the school. The Champions are judged on a score of fifty points each, and the winner shall be the Champion with the highest score per each school. To make sure the students are completely sure of their conviction, they will put their names into—”

Argus waddles up, pushing a tall crate in the front the staff table. Mrs. Norris licks her paw in the shadows. Dumbledore flicks his wand, the candles dimming, and the crate opens to reveal a tall torch on a podium. It’s burning blue fire casts an powerful glow.

“—the Goblet of Fire,” He lets the students awe at it.

“It shall choose the four most worthiest students from each school. These four shall each compete to determine who becomes their school’s ultimate Champion. To enter, simply write your name and school on a slip of paper, and place it into the Goblet. Students have twenty-four hours to enter.

“I shall also be drawing an _Age Line_ around the Goblet to prevent any under age from entering. Now, once the Goblet has spit out your name by tomorrow evening, you are magically bound to participate unless you are disqualified during the Tests. Oh look, off to bed!” Dumbledore dismisses them.

Hermione’s suddenly wrapped in a double hug from the twins, both squeezing hard.

“See you tomorrow **Tante**, [Aunt,]” They sing-song together, sauntering away arm-in-arm back towards the carriage. Hermione watches Kate sigh longingly after the twins, and her amusement rises. She just doesn’t notice both Fleur and Daphne watching her hungrily, then glare at each other.

* * *

Nearly everyone in Hogwarts flock to the Great Hall early that Saturday to wait for Seventh year students to submit their names. The Goblet stands proud, a wide, three meter ring of golden fire encircling it. She hears the whispers that all the Durmstrang lot had already put their names in the Goblet.

The Gryffindor Chaser, Angelina Johnson, and an older Alpha Slytherin, Cassius Warrginton, enter their names in, and the Goblet’s fire turns red and sparks fly. The Beauxbatons students arrive, forming a line. Annie and Claire wink at Hermione when they put their names in.

Fleur stoically ignores Hermione, but she swears when the Veela Alpha sauntered away she put more swing into her hips. Hermione has to check if she’s drooling a little, and Daphne scowls next to her. That’s when the Weasley twins come running in, crowing, Lee Jordan behind them.

Before they knock the _Aging Potion_ back, Hermione drawling voice cuts through the noise, and everyone turns to her.

“It’s not going to work,” At this, the crowd look nervous, some nodding to themselves, while most look undecided. The twins look bemused. The Beauxbatons stand off to the side, watching the Hogwarts students’ reactions to Hermione’s words. Fred and George hop over the line, and after a beat and nothing happens. Cheers ring out, and Hermione laughs.

The Goblet pulses red. A blast of fire throws the twins back, thick white beards on their faces, their hair white. Dumbledore comes in, amused, as he directs the twins to the Infirmary. Still snickering, Hermione stands, striding towards the Goblet. A hush falls over the crowd, and Daphne lurches to grab Hermione, but Annie steps in the Beta’s path.

Crossing through the golden line, there’s a gasp. Dead silence spliced with the click of her footsteps. When the Goblet doesn’t react, she drops her name into the fire, it flaring red with sparks. Smirking, she winks at a stunned Daphne, and waltzes out of the Great Hall with Annie and Claire.

* * *

The entire day is ripe with anticipation for the twelve awaited names. Hagrid even shows up in a horrid suit, and a poor attempt to tame his beard. A glance at where he keeps looking up at is all the answer she needs. He fancies Madame Maxine. The Great Hall’s candles are low, the blue fire of the Goblet the only light. The other two schools enter, and Dumbledore walks behind the Goblet, his face illuminated.

“Let the competition, begin.” The Goblet flares red, spitting out four parchments.

≠ “The Champions for Durmstrang will be, ≠ Alpha Kaftarn Adnora, Alpha Romnog Poliakoff, and Alpha Dashi Ivanova, and Alpha Victor Krum!” The cheers for Victor almost drown out the first three names called. Hermione remembers hearing the surname Ivanova before at the QWC.

The four Alpha Durmstrang students stand, entering the annexed chamber behind the High table.

≠ “The Champions for Beauxbatons will be, Alpha Fleur Delacour, ≠ Alpha Annie Mendonica, Omega Kate Duceau and Beta Robert Rothschild!” There’s the applause as the four of them leave. Annie pats Claire’s shoulder when she gets up.

≠ “The Champions for Hogwarts will be, Alpha Cedric Diggory, Beta Marcus Turner, Alpha Angelina Johnson, and Alpha Hermione Mendonica!” The roaring cheers from her House escort her to the annexed chamber. Inside, it’s filled with portraits, a few chairs, and a warm fire. Hermione stands with the three other Hogwarts Champions.

Interesting that the Goblet chose a Champion from all four Houses, specifically three of the four Kings and one ex-royalty. Instantly she’s enveloped by Annie’s hug.

»I knew it! You’re definitely going to win for Hogwarts!« Annie squeals. Hermione smiles, returning the hug.

»Thanks . . . How did Claire take it?« She asks softly, and Annie’s face becomes pinched.

»She’s disappointed, but she’s happy for us. I think she didn’t want to compete against each other eventually,« Annie trails off, and Hermione nods, rubbing her niece’s back. The door opens again, and a shaky Harry enters.

“Oh Harry, did the judges send you in?” Angelina says with a smile. Unlike her King counterpart, Percy, she graciously stepped down from her Queen of Gryffindor status when Harry challenged Percy for King status some time during his First year.

Harry raises his head, his emerald-green eyes wide with terror.

“I didn’t do it,” He says hoarsely.

“Come again?” Beta Marcus says. Harry turns to Hermione, and repeats himself. Hermione opens her mouth, but Bagman skips into the room, grinning madly.

“Absolutely astonishing! Truly!” He grabs Harry’s hand, raising it in the air proudly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce the thirteenth Champion!”

* * *

There’s a heavy silence as they absorb the news. Harry’s nearly pasty white with fear, and they can all smell it. Annie is the first to react.

“Oh how funny Mr. Bagman, you almost got me there,” The Veela smiles, but Bagman’s perplexed expression freezes it.

“What? No no my dear, The Goblet spit out Harry’s name,” The Beta says. Annie’s grip on Hermione tightens. Fleur scowls, and even Kate looks cross. The rest of the judges accompanied by Professor McGonagall, and Snape, and the Mad Child barge into the room, all arguing. Fleur hisses threateningly at Harry, and Hermione growls a little. The Veela Alpha’s head snaps towards her, and she prowls forwards.

— . —

_Crucio!_ = Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse

_Imperio!_ = Unforgivable Imperius Curse

_Occlued_ = Occlumency Spell

_Avada Kedavra!_ = Unforgivable Killing Curse

_Imperio_ = Unforgivable Imperius Curse

_Prevents people above or below a certain age from access to a target_ = Age Line 2x

_Depending on the amount taken, ages the drinker to various ages_ = Aging Potion


	3. Looking For Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Hogwarts for Hermione and the pack get crazier with the foreign students!

Annie lets out a warning hiss, but Fleur shoves her away, baring her teeth at Hermione. A rumble in her chest rolls, but the Veela Alpha ignores that too.

»I’ll be watching you, _Alfā_, your plan won’t succeed,« Fleur snarls in a private link. Hermione bares her teeth, leaning over the shorter Veela. The Veela Alpha’s head just reaches up to Hermione’s chin.

»Then by all means, _Fleur_, watch.« She growls in reply. Fleur clicks her teeth together threateningly, then stalks back to a worried Kate. Annie’s quick to follow her, furious words spewing from her lips. Hermione turns to level a hard stare at Harry, and the Alpha flinches. Sighing, she gives him a small nod, and stumbles to her side with great relief.

The rest of the Champions give Harry the stink eye. The judges finally and begrudgingly conclude Harry must compete, or face the horrible consequence of the ancient, magical contract. Bartemius Sr. reads off the rules.

“The first Test is one of daring. ≠ So we will not be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard . . . Very important . . . The First Test will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. ≠

“No Champion may ask for aid in any from their teachers to accomplish the First Test. Only their wands and their persons are allowed in each Test. After the First Test, the remaining nine—er, ten—Champions will receive clues pertaining the Second Test. Also, Champions ≠ are exempt from the end-of-year test.” ≠ He concludes wearily.

The rest of the Champions file out after the dismissal, except for Hermione, Harry, and Angelina. The Alpha lays a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, and gives Hermione a quick nod.

“Let’s go back to the Common Room, yeah? Get the rumors sorted out,” Angelina says gently, steering Harry out. Hermione sighs again, and takes a deep breath. It’s going to be a long year.

* * *

Entering the Common Room, she’s greeted by a party in full swing. Plastering a neutral smile on her face, Hermione saunters to her chair, all her year mates hanging around it.

“Snape says you’re actually legit—how come you never told us you were three years older?” Blaise demands as soon as she sits down.

“Drop it Zabini,” Astoria growls, leaping to her defense. Hermione lays a hand on the agitated young Alpha’s shoulder, and she calms. The others wisely move onto another topic.

“Hey, did you know, Pucey and Warrington tried to get in,” Beta Tracey whispers, looking over at the two Slytherins sulking.

“I know that Hopkins, Chang, Spinnet, and the Hufflepuff Omega, Gillian Ossett, entered.” Millicent says.

“Also loads of underage kids tried,” Flora Carrow adds.

“Like Ravenclaw Beta Stacy Fawcett and The Beta of Hufflepuff, Beta Higgs Summers.” Hestia lists.

“So how did bloody Harry Potter get in?” Daphne growls. There’s a jolt of angry tension at his name.

“Dumbledore wanted to have two of his precious Lions in the Race,” Pansy sneers. Fortunately they drop the topic when the drinks are brought over. Silently, Hermione nursing her second teacup of Firewhisky as her yearmates get sloshed, wondering why it is always Harry.

* * *

Walking to breakfast early on the following Sunday, Hermione sits and her lap is suddenly covered by Luna. The Gamma makes herself comfy, snuggling up against her chest. The other two Revols are with her, watching with amused expressions. Hermione doesn’t see that Astoria freezes in the doorway of the Great Hall, but Harold and Neville do.

“Was it the Moon Riddle?” Luna asks dreamily, and Hermione nods.

“Lurch, you can use magic outside of school now!” Harold whispers, eyeing Astoria warily.

“Bloody hell, that’s awesome!” Neville grins excitedly. Harold darts off suddenly, and Hermione sees him help Draco and Daphne pull a thrashing Astoria out of sight.

“Jealousy makes good dogs mad.” Luna says dreamily, and Err’sh swoops into the Great Hall. Dropping the wrinkled, dirty piece of parchment that smells distinctly like a certain Werewolf, he soars out, whistling something about going to help Mrs. Norris wash herself. Hermione rolls her eyes, and gently pushes Luna off her.

She doesn’t want the Gamma to see Tarow’s letter, even though Luna might already know what it says.

“Come Lord Longbottom, our Alfā needs space,” Luna says dreamily, pulling the confused Omega away. Hermione turns back to the parchment, and unfolds it. Squinting at the almost illegible script, she manages to read it.

_WE . . . COME . . . AFTER . . . LAST . . . TEST_

* * *

The next few days are a bit tense, as half the Champions eye each other up, and the other half try to make alliances with each other. The press is blowing up with the Champions, hyping up the Wizarding World. Harry has started to follow Angelina around, preferring her company than his own Beta’s. Although said Beta staunchly believes Harry put his own name in for the glory.

Interestingly enough, Victor Krum seeks out Hermione in the Library more often than not, but only when she’s with Annie and Claire. The first time, the three Veela were unsure what to make of his presence, and the twins disliked him.

“Hullo ≠ Herm-own-ninny, Annie, Glare,” ≠ Victor said in his thick Bulgarian accent.

“Morning Victor,” Hermione replied.

“Erm, may I sit vith you?”

“Why?” Claire’s question is sharp. Victor glances over his shoulders, and lowers his voice.

“You scare the annoying van girls away.” At this, Annie perks up, and she and Claire share a look.

“Then by all means, grab a chair Victor,” Annie drawls, and he sits down awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He said, putting his nose in a book. He looked positively uncomfortable in his English speaking abilities. Soon, Victor becomes a regular at their table, his fan girls unwilling to get close with the combined amber-colored glares directed their way.

* * *

On her way to her double Potions class with Daphne by her side, Astoria bounds up to her, intercepting them.

“Mio! Bagman wants the Champions upstairs,” She says, and Daphne sighs, tightening her arm that’s still wrapped around Hermione’s. The Beta’s been doing that more often lately, and Hermione doesn’t mind it. Harry and Neville walk past, and Astoria groans in annoyance.

“Oi! Potter!” She barks, and the two boys turn.

“Bagman wants you,” She says stiffly, barely concealing her displeasure. Hermione untangles her arm from Daphne, and cuffs Astoria on the shoulder warningly. The young Alpha narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll inform Professor Snape,” Daphne says in parting, hurrying to class.

“I think Bagman’s taking the Champion pictures, although I smelled Rita Skeeter in there,” Astoria says, leading them to the classroom. All three grimace at the thought of the annoying Beta woman. Astoria drops them off in the small classroom, glaring at Harry as he passes. Inside, the rest of the Champions mill around.

“Ah! You’ve arrived! Now we can start the Weighing of the Wands!” Bagman bellows, his voice efficiently cutting through the murmuring noise. Following Bagman is Rita Skeeter herself. Wearing sparkly clothes, polka-dotted, and bejeweled spectacles, she looks like a shiny roach. Blond hair styled in waves, her simpering voice grates on Hermione’s nerves.

“After the wand weighing, we’re going to have a photo shoot! ≠ Oh, this is Rita Skeeter, she’s doing a small piece on the contest for the _Daily Prophet!_” Bagman cries happily.

“Maybe not that _small_, Ludo.” ≠ Skeeter simpers, her eyes locked on Hermione. She sees the Beta tapping her crocodile handbag with her long, pointed, crimson-painted nails. Bagman leaves alone, jollily dragging Harry over to a sour Victor. Skeeter steps closer in Hermione’s space, the shorter Beta looking up at her with a smirk.

»Just say the word, and I’ll gut her,« Annie whispers from across the room.

»We’ll help.« Kate hisses darkly, and Fleur just sniffs distantly.

“Hello Lady Mendonica, do you mind if I interview you? It’ll be real quick.” Hermione keeps silent, but lets the Beta guide her next to a broom closet.

“Do you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, it’ll make things faster—” Hermione narrows her eyes as the Quill comes to life, hovering over the parchment. Skeeter tests it, and Hermione barely reads the first sentence before the Beta rips it off.

≠ _Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations . . ._ ≠

Hermione narrows her eyes, sending a tiny thread of her Thrall towards the Quill, appealing it to her.

“So, first question, your readers are wondering, why enter the I.W.O.R.? What were you feeling?” Hermione’s eyes are on the Quill, as it’s already writing.

_A cold persona belying an etherial beauty, haunting eyes the color of burning coal, with a aura of otherworldly predatory prowess . . ._

“Ignore that,” Skeeter says brightly.

“My family expected me to enter, and I am proud to do so.” Hermione says smoothly, her eyes still on the Quill-From-Hell.

_Bravely submitting to her family’s expectations, she proved her worth by being selected as a Champion, a feat that will mark her in history forever . . ._

≠ “How do you feel about the Tests ahead? Exited? Nervous?” ≠

“I suppose I’d have to be a fool not to be either.”

_Beneath a stunning complexion lies a hidden wisdom beyond her years, with an enthusiasm to win the I.W.O.R. . . ._

≠ “Champions have died in the past, haven’t they? Have you thought about that at all?” ≠

“I have no plans on dying.”

_When asked, a determined look so fierce transforms her smoldering gaze into an intensive stare, proclaiming she’ll be the “last one to die if that’s what it takes” . . ._

≠ “Of course, you’ve looked death in the face before haven’t you ≠ with the Werewolf Killer? ≠ How would you say that affected you?” ≠

“I survived and exited the Dark Forest with more knowledge than when I entered.”

_The proud Lady humbles herself as questions of her previous death-defying encounters come to light, a pensive look on her face . . ._

≠ “Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name?” ≠ Skeeter presses harder, the Quill flying back and forth across the parchment.

“I don’t need to prove to others who I am.”

_Somberly, she doesn’t speak of the past encounters, but with unwavering conviction, she wishes to show the world who she is . . ._

“How do your parents feel about your choice?”

“They wish me well.”

_Passion to prove herself simmers the very air surrounding her lithe body, and a smug smile tugs at plush lips as our talk turns to the subject of her parents . . ._

Dumbledore opens the classroom door with a flourish, but he frowns when he spots Skeeter. The Beta hurriedly tucks the paper into her bag, and Hermione escapes back to the safety of the other Hogwarts Champions. She’s just in time too, for she’s the last to have her wand weighed. Mr. Ollivander smiles up at her, and holds out a wrinkled hand.

Handing it over hilt first, the ancient Gamma holds it with great care, avoiding the wicked metal hook.

“Ah, I remember this one,” He sighs in remembrance, tracing the groves of her wand. Mr. Ollivander mutters a spell, and a burst of mist shoots out of the tip and he hands her wand back to her. She’s barely sheathed her wand when Bagman ushers all of them together for pictures.

For the first batch, they’re grouped by school, a mix of standing, sitting, kneeling, or posing. Next is the single portraits, then finally the all male and female photos. Hermione ends up wedged next to Fleur, their sides pressing awkwardly next to each other in such a way they have to move their arms.

Hermione’s hand settles around Fleur’s waist, while the Veela Alpha digs hers against Hermione’s spine. She jerks at the electrifying touch, and Fleur gasps when Hermione’s hand on her clenches.

»Don’t grab at me,« Fleur hisses.

»Then don’t claw me,« Hermione retorts.

* * *

Hogwarts with the foreign students doesn’t affect the Fourth years in their classes, but _outside_ is a whole other matter. Hermione’s status as King of Slytherin elevate her nieces as the two most unattainable bachelorettes, which makes their hunting games even more amusing for them. Kate hesitantly trailed the twins until Annie got tired of the Omega’s shyness and enveloped the Veela into their fold.

Fleur was still being guarded, keeping Katie by her side, but Hermione catches her frequently glancing at her. Victor has taken to subtlety stalking Luna, which Hermione only knows because the Gamma herself told her.

“It’s alright my Liege-Lord, the Whackaspurts always cluster around him, and tie his tongue.” Luna had said. So Hermione’s been keeping an eye on Victor, and so far he’s been observing from a respectful distance. While observing Victor—without his fangirls—watch Luna in the Library, she stumbles upon a cleverly concealed flight of stairs.

To access the stairs, she had to morph into a cat to get through a tight hole in a bookshelf under the Jinx section. The stairs lead to a high alcove, cast in shadows. The spherical alcove has a giant opening to show the whole Library below. Morphing back, Hermione lies on her stomach, growling softly when she sees Victor speaking with Luna.

Eyes wandering, they pause on Marcus Turner, trying too hard not to be seen. Leaning forwards, she watches him skirt to the Magical Creatures section, head looking around quickly, then he grabs a book and darts away. For the King of Ravenclaw, he isn’t smart enough to not hide a guilty look on his face.

Leaving the hidden alcove, Hermione walks towards where Marcus was. Fingers brushing over the spines of the books, they pause on the empty space. Why was he looking up Dragons? Specifically how to kill them? She blinks, and understanding dawns on her.

* * *

Two days before the first Test, Hermione skims the latest _Daily Prophet_ at her table in the Library. The article hinting how sexually alluring Hermione is and how many lovers she’s had over the years. Kate takes a look at it.

»What is this filth?« She scowls. Annie leans on the Omega to get a look, and Kate stiffens.

»Oh it’s _her_,«

»Vile Witch of the West,« Claire mutters. Hermione dimly remembers that Muggle reference.

»Say, Tante, [Aunt,] aren’t you going to invite us to this Hogsmeade place everyone’s talking about?« Annie purrs, now fully laying on Kate’s back. The Veela Omega whimpers softly.

»Sure.« Hermione rolls her eyes, and the twins give her smug looks while Kate tries and fails not to blush. Unnoticed by the Veela, a certain Delacour watches with narrowed eyes, clutching a green and silver scarf tightly in her hands.

* * *

Pacing on the grounds, Hermione hears Karkaroff’s distant orders being shouted from the Durmstrang’s ship. She frowns, remembering reading about him from some of the books in the Mendonica Palace. The Alpha had repented by giving loads of his fellow Death Eater’s names in exchange for his freedom.

He’d be the first to steal I.W.O.R. information for Victor, his favored Champion. Of course, cheating has been part of the I.W.O.R. since it’s inception, and Hermione is surprised Dumbledore hasn’t stooped there yet. Pacing again, she remembers everything she knows about Dragons as a whole.

And then it hits her. Parseltongue is the language of serpents, and Dragons are basically just bigger serpents. Hermione pauses, then she resolves herself. It’s time to visit the Chamber of Secrets again.

* * *

Closing the entrance behind her, she slides down the pipe, and enters the massive chamber again. The stone floor is covered in black ash marks from her fight with Ouroboros and the Basilisk. Morphing her eyes into an snake’s, she starts to look around the walls. The Bloody Baron’s words echo in her head.

_In the secret depths of the castle, unbeknownst to the other Houses, we studied the darkest of magicks._

Which means there has to be traces of the books or recordings that students used to learn from.

_We were warned never to wander, or we’d be lost forever, not even Slytherin himself would find us._

Hermione stays within the meager light from the main chamber, never entering any of the dark tunnels.

_He intended for his heir to inherit all his knowledge._

So Slytherin must of had a cache of knowledge hidden away, as any Slytherin worth their salt would do. Hermione pauses when her hand brushes up against wood instead of stone. Her magic flows out, inspecting for wards. When she touches the still powerful magic, Hermione hisses, flinching away.

A stream of blood siphons from the slit in her palm, absorbed by the wards. Healing her hand, she watches warily as the wards spread her blood over the door. And then, settling, ancient hinges swing open silently to reveal an office.

* * *

The office calls to her, pulling at her as if to say, _visit me, read me, let me share my treasures._ Hermione shakes her head sharply, the words in her head disappearing. Sending her Thrall out sensing for traps or wards, she detects none. The magic from the door purrs when she passes it. Walking into Alpha Salazar Slytherin’s office, she runs her fingers along the numerous books.

At a glance, most if not all are first addition tomes. Arcane books on all kinds of magic, lots more about questionable magic. An eerie fact leaps out at her. The office looks as pristine as Dumbledore’s, not a speck of dust to be found. Putting those thoughts on hold, she scans the shelves, and finds one dedicated to Dragons.

Hermione picks out a tome that seems somewhat useful out of the seven. Probing it for curses or other nasty tricks, the book comes up clean. Opening it, she blinks her eyes, the words blurring, then clearing up. Carefully flipping through the thin pages, she stops on a bookmarked page in the middle.

** _The language of the Serpents is the only language that any magical being may attempt to converse with a Winged-Serpent. The species are brutal, savage, and beastly, with no Human intelligence and will always go for the kill. The dialect they speak is distinctly different from the language of the Serpents, which can only be used to control a Winged-Serpent, but only if a Wizard is well versed in the Arcane Words of Magic. Without the use of Parselmagic, there is no way to break a Winged-Serpent, much less rob it of it’s Soul-Fire._ **

The tome was written in a time where the Wizarding people were still largely ignorant of their world, so she lets the bias of the writer slide. There is a small comment on the side, where arrow from the underlined part of the text points to. The writing is familiar, a vicious looking script.

** _Only?_ **

** _Hah!_ **

** _You simpletons think you know what it takes to harvest a Draconic Beast!_ **

It’s Maddar Mendonica’s words—those of her ancestor. Hermione wonders when ancient Veela came to England, or if Salazar met her. But on the subject of Parselmagic . . . Hermione puts the book back. None of the shelves yield any results. Searching the desk, she finds all kinds of normal things.

Making sure not to disturb them, she hits the jackpot when she discovers a personal journal. It’s well hidden inside a secret compartment of a secret compartment. Picking it up gently, she’s surprised to feel heavy preservation and blood spells on it, crude ones, but still potent. They feel like the rest of the Chamber.

Touching it, Hermione watches as the door’s magic ripple across the office, and unlock the journal. The only obstacle left snake clasp grips the covers tight. Taking a shuddering breath, she hisses.

‡_Open_.‡ The snake slithers backwards to the back cover. Opening it, the “words” swim before her eyes, before she realizes that its Parselscript. Blinking, she reads. There’s writing everywhere, on every page, some in Maddar’s script, some in another’s, and most in Salazar’s. Flipping through randomly, she stops when she reads a single line from Maddar.


	4. The First Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione does some studying, two rivals start to face off, and the First Test begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, be forewarned!
> 
> I’ve decided that to prolong the grind and up the ante, Years 5+ are going to be only single chapter updates.
> 
> (I’m still going to be uploading Wednesday and Saturday East Coast Time)

** _Moggy was right, you really are a self absorbed ass to think Parselmagic is your glorious solution!_ **

** _[Crude butt sketch]_ **

Hermione sighs, putting the journal back in the desk. Pausing, she tilts her head.

“Hogwarts House-Elf?” She says, and a second later a wizened, old Elf appears next to her. His wide eyes widen further when he sees Hermione.

Our’s Queen! He squeaks, prostrating himself against the floor. She raises an eyebrow at him, and the phrase. It reminds her of what Minister Riddle wanted to be called.

You may stand, She squeaks, and he obeys at once. He must be ancient in House-Elf standards, and they age extremely slowly.

What is your name? She asks. He looks up at her confused.

Name? Our’s Queen forgot Thon’s name? But you’s blood smells like Our’s Queen’s . . . Thon rambles.

Thon, Hermione’s sharp squeak silences the Elf.

I am not your Queen. I am Alfā Hermione Eto Mendonica. She squeaks, and his ears perk up.

You’s still a Lady Mendonica! Thon’s happy to serve the great House of Mendonica! He squeaks, and she nods. Crouching, she looks him in his ancient eyes.

Do you know where I can learn Parselmagic? At this, Thon’s ears lower, and he looks nervous.

Lady Mendonica would have to enter Merlin’s mouth, and seek out the Consort of the King Serpents. He squeaks. So the statue is Merlin, not Salazar.

But I killed the Basilisk, She squeaks, and Thon shakes his head.

That was the Mad Queen, the Consort still lies in her chamber, Hermione’s eyes widen at that news. There seems to be a lot of madness appearing this year. Thanking the Elf, she warns him not to speak a word of this to anyone, and he nods vigorously. Walking towards the opening in Merlin’s mouth, she sees a curving tube going down.

Bracing herself, she slides down, twisting, looping, and then flattens out. Rolling out across the floor, the cold of the place seeps into Hermione’s robes. She can see her breath, and feel the cold clamminess of her skin. Standing, she looks around the high cavern. Glowworms and glittering moss adorn the high ceiling, shining meager light onto a giant nest in the center of the floor.

On the other side of the empty nest, is a doorway with stairs leading up. Half sliding half walking around the nest on the slick, icy floor, she freezes when the nest shakes. A low hiss permeates throughout the room, and she shields her eyes when a large form rises up.

‡_Are you the Sssonsssort [Consort] of the Mad Sssueensss? [Queen?]_‡ Hermione hisses, and a continuous slithering sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

‡_A Ssspeaker in her nessst . . . Ssshe who ended my dead Sssueensss’ [Queen’s] painful exxxissstenccce . . . Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] . . . Have you come to kill me?_‡ Hermione’s eyes widen when she hears the male Basilisk speak. Freezing, she feels a warm tongue flick over her face.

‡_No, I wasss not aware of your presssenccce._‡ She replies. Hermione can feel the heat from his nostrils.

‡_You sssmell of an being I thought long vanissshed . . . Unbound by a trappingsss of one flesssh . . . Morph your eyesss Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] . . . Sssee my eyesss,_‡ Hermione takes a breath, morphs them, and stares at the Basilisk. His eyes are mesmerizing, shifting colors pass through them as though they hold a droplet of the sun in them. He’s almost as big as the Mad Queen was.

‡_Asssk, and I ssshall tell you all I know,_‡ He hisses, swaying his body hypnotically. Hermione blinks, gathering her thoughts.

‡_Isss Parssselmagic affective againssst a Dragon?_‡ She asks, and he lets out a wordless, low hiss.

‡_No. The Draconic Beassstsss belong to the Great Elementalsss, they are the Ssspaccce that fillsss thisss world . . . Our eyesss cannot pierccce their Ssspaccce . . ._‡ He pauses.

‡_I have only ssslain one when I wasss in my prime . . . I wasss one of three competing to become the Mad Sssueensss’sss [Queen’s] Sssonsssort [Consort] . . ._‡ He hisses, the knowledge rolling off his tongue.

‡_Do you have any knowledge that may asssssissst me when confronting a Dragon?_‡

The Consort blinks, and a knowing glint flickers in his beautiful eyes.

‡_It would be wissse to approach a Dragon with a Sssonsssort. [Consort.]_‡ He hisses.

‡_I don’t need a Ssssonsssort. [Consort.]_‡ Hermione replies, and he flicks his tongue, amused.

‡_Perhapsss . . . Rule now; challenge potential Sssonsssortsss [Consorts] during the ssseassson; breed; rule more._‡ He hisses simply. Hermione decides to change topics.

‡_Why did the Mad Sssueensss [Queen] challenge you to kill a Dragon?_‡ His eyes flick over to a section of the nest. Nudging it apart, it reveals a stone block with multiple cracks in it.

‡_While ssshe wasss controled by a Ssspeaker, ssshe wasss ssstill a Sssueensss [Queen] . . . The Ssspeaker coveted a Dragon’sss corpssse, and when he reccceived it . . . Unssspeakable thingsss were done to it . . . Powerful, but heinousss . . . Much of the corpssse isss lossst . . . But sssome . . . Ssstill ressside here,_‡ The Consort hisses harshly, his tail flicking agitatedly. Hermione’s intrigued.

‡_Beware, Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] . . . There are thingsss bessst laid to ressst . . . I can ssstill feel the taint of him even now . . . And I fear it holdsss an unshakable sssentienccce . . ._‡ He hisses warily as Hermione turns to approach the trap door. Crouching, she knocks on the stone, and it levitates the stone out of it’s slot.

As it settles out of the way, she glances back at the Consort, then climbs down the ladder.

* * *

It’s a small armory hall, medieval style, and mostly empty. Racks of all kinds are nailed to the walls like empty silhouettes waiting for a body to make them. There’s only a scattering of weapons left, all close-quarter ones. The _Black Blade_ from Bellatrix that’s strapped to her thigh seems to vibrate warningly at the proximity of the Dragon bone weapons.

Hermione shivers as she brushes her fingers against the hilt of a knife, and it’s tainted magic singing to her. The _Black Blade_ sends a jolt like a pinch through her leg, and she jerks away from the knife. Patting the sheathed blade, Hermione keeps her hands close. Peering at the weapons, she realizes that all of them are Goblin made.

That’s when she sees a coiled disk in the very back, wedged into a corner. Walking forwards carefully, she reaches out her hand, and the _Black Blade_ doesn’t react. Taking the disk off it’s hook, she feels it, and its magic invades her blood.

* * *

Hermione groans, blinking. Confused and dizzy, she realizes she’s lying with her face pressing on the cold floor. She tries to move, but she’s too lethargic. Wincing, Hermione rolls onto her back, panting at the little motion. She should of been more careful—she was warned by a _Basilisk!_

Breathing in and out, Hermione shudders as her body comes down from it’s adrenaline high and bliss. Looking down at her hand, her eyes widen when she realizes the disk has unraveled. It’s forty-eight centimeter handle is carved from a femur bone, and engraved with loopy, spiraling cursive.

நெவர்மோரில்.

The language turns in her mind, and its magic whispers to her.

_Nevarmōril_, it says, licking its magic along her palm holding it.

“_Nevermore_.” Hermione whispers, and _Nevarmōril_ purrs.

It’s made from what looks like a multitude of tail bones interlocking masterfully. The bones were cut to a more aerodynamic shape, curves finely honed to lethal edge, creating a four meter long, streamlined whip. _Nevarmōril_ slithers in her hand, and the handle scratches her palm sharply.

Flinching, her palm bleeds from the shallow cut. Hermione watches in horror and fascination as the bone starts to pull itself under her cut, its magic pulling her skin to envelop around it. _Nevarmōril_ must be numbing her to the pain, or transforming itself, for she doesn’t see any grotesque bulges roaming under her skin.

Hermione isn’t sure how she knows, but can practically hear the sentient whip slide along the bones in her arms. Her body starts to shake, sweating profusely. _Nevarmōril_ entwines itself through her ribcage, and wraps itself snuggly up her spine. Its over faster than Hermione realizes it, and her cut heals.

When the last of its magic locks inside her, sealing itself to her, _Nevarmōril_ gives her a welcoming gift. Hermione’s back arches as she screams as raw, unfiltered and adulterated magick floods her mind.

Its battering rhythm tells her it will bond with her.

Its malicious barbs sharpening tells her that she is not worthy of it.

Yet.

* * *

The Consort watches Hermione stagger out of the Armory, slithering warily around her. Then he sniffs her, and recoils quickly.

‡_What have you done?_‡ He hisses in horror.

‡_I . . . Don’t know,_‡ She hisses, still exhausted.

‡_Pardon my presssumptuousssnesssss . . . But sssinccce I’m demoted to being your new Sssersssonal-Sssionasss-Sssasssvisssor [Personal-Council-Advisor], I wouldn’t bond with anymore living weaponsss._‡ He hisses, and Hermione nods her agreement. Nevarmōril growls along her spine, tightening possessively. Eager to change the subject so the whip inside her calms, Hermione hisses another question.

‡_What’sss your name?_‡

The Consort huffs.

‡_Sssonsssortsss [Consorts] cast off their egg-namesss._‡

Hermione takes a breath, calming her thoughts and _Nevarmōril_ inside her.

‡_Alright, I will call you Asssccclepiusss after the Greek God of Rebirth._‡

‡_Asssccclepiusss,_‡ Asclepius hisses to himself, ignoring her now. Hermione slowly gathers her strength, and hobbles to the steep staircase. He’s still testing out his new name when she starts up the hundred flight of stairs. At the end is a door with two peep holes, a rough film covering the other side.

Stepping out into the empty hallway on the seventh floor, Hermione shuts the door. Looking back, she sees a portrait called the _Roar of Ornth_. It’s a smiling woman in a white dress; a woman with burning amber-brown eyes.

* * *

There’s only three days until the First Test, and as Hermione enters the Courtyard, she spots Fleur. She had just told Annie, Claire, and Kate about the nature of the First Test, although Madame Maxine had beaten her to it. So it stands to reason that Fleur would know as Madam Maxine’s obvious favorite.

And yet . . . _Nevarmōril_ slithers down her spine into her legs, and Hermione’s sauntering towards the Veela Alpha. Fleur turns when she hears Hermione approach, a cold glare already painted on her face. _Nevarmōril_ carries her right up into the Veela Alpha’s space, leaving centimeters between them.

»What do you want?« Fleur sneers. Hermione notices she’s keeping her white-knuckled grip tight on her textbooks.

»The First Test will have Dragons.« She drawls, and Fleur gaps like a fish, blinking rapidly. Hermione barely even begins to walk away when Nevarmōril locks her legs still. Fleur shuts her mouth with a click, and when she looks up Hermione, there’s a change. For once, Fleur’s expression is softer, not entirely of course since the Veela Alpha has a permanently resting bitch-face.

Hermione really loves that face.

»You didn’t have to tell me,« Fleur murmurs, confusion lacing her voice.

»I didn’t« Hermione agrees.

»That’s cheating . . .« Fleur trails off, thinking hard. Hermione shrugs.

»Cheating is an integral part of the I.W.O.R..« She responds. Fleur nods absently, still thinking. Her white-knuckle grip lessens, and she drums her fingernails on her textbooks. Then she stares up at Hermione again, and she wants to lose herself in those cerulean-blue eyes. The Veela Alpha places a hand on Hermione’s arm, and they both ignore the instant sizzle of heat and energy passing between them.

»The Dragons will be a Chinese Fireball, Hebridean Black, Common Welsh Green, and a Hungarian Horntail.« Fleur says, and then she’s striding away.

* * *

It’s Tuesday morning finally, and the big start of the First Test. Hermione’s leaning against a pole in the Champions tent by the Black Forest in the I.W.O.R. tactically robes. The crest of Hogwarts proudly stitched across her back, and her House emblem embroidered on her chest. The rest of the Champions shuffle around, a nervous energy buzzing through the room.

Bagman enters, and without his usual preamble, launches off into an explanation of the rules. Each school enters separately, their three winners will collect their Golden Eggs, and then be scored on their performances accordingly.

“Now just pick from this bag, and you’ll meet the defenders!” Bagman says jollily, thrusting it out to Kate. The Veela Omega reaches in, and pulls out an animated model of a male Common Welsh Green with a number one on it’s wings. Victor pulls out a male Chinese Fireball with a number two.

When Cedric reaches in, he jerks, yanking his hand back. Clinging to his sleeves are the model of the male Hebridean Black with a three and the male Hungarian Horntail model with a number four. The King of Hufflepuff pales, and Beta Marcus grimaces.

“Oh my! It seems the Horntail didn’t want to be left out! We still had to bring the real version you see,” Bagman tapers off when he sees the incredulous faces staring at him. Hermione rolls her eyes at the Beta man’s floundering. She wonders why the officials think the male Dragons will stay on the eggs. If anything, the males will leave the eggs the first chance they get.

Hermione looks up, hearing the sound of footsteps.

“Hermione?” Daphne whispers, her outline forming against the tent. Hermione shuffles over to a slit in the tent.

“Ma Tigresse? [My Tigress?] Shouldn’t you be in the stands?” She whispers back, and she hears Daphne shuffle.

“Beauxbatons first! Get ready!” Bagman shouts. In the flurry of movement, Daphne darts into the tent, grabbing Hermione in a tight hug. Hermione leans into the Beta, and a deep rumbling begins to rattle in her chest automatically. Daphne’s hands clutch the back of her robes, and Hermione twitches at the surprising sensuality of it. Her purring gets louder.

It seems having _Nevarmōril_ coiled around her spine makes her more sensitive. Her body leans into Daphne’s, and Hermione tucks the Beta close. Closing her eyes, Hermione isn’t aware of the furious glare directed in their direction. Brilliant grass-green eyes slyly flick towards cold cerulean-blue eyes.

Fleur halts her slow trudge to the tent flap, baring her teeth threateningly. Daphne just smirks smugly, and drags her fingers up Hermione’s back, her nails snagging on the tactical robes. Hermione’s purr is thunderously loud to even the point that the other Champions look over to her.

Fleur clenches her hands, but then a blank calm neutralizes her face. Daphne grips harder at Hermione warily, watching the powerful Alpha pivot on her heel and stalk out. The Beta can’t help but feel that Fleur has gained the upper hand on her.

* * *

Hermione doesn’t realize that Durmstrang has left until Bagman clears his throat awkwardly. Harry gives them a thumbs up, smiling. Daphne wriggles out of her embrace, and Hermione and _Nevarmōril_ growl softly at the move. The Beta freezes, but Bagman swoops in.

“Time to go!” He says brightly, and the Hogwarts Champions are rushed out of the tent. Hermione blinks as the sheer level of noise slams into her. She’s swamped for a second, and then something in her mind switches. Grabbing Harry, she drags him with her under the safety of a slanted boulder. She peeks out, then ducks down again.

“The arena is half the size of the Quidditch Pitch Harry. The Hebridean in one end and the Horntail in the other.” She lists, and Harry nods. He’s already sweating, trying to hold in his fear.

“_Look at me_.” Hermione orders in her Alfā voice, and Harry obeys.

“Cover my back, alright? Just follow my lead,” She says soothingly, and Harry nods, taking a deep breath.

“Alright. I’m a Gryffindor. We have courage!” He hypes himself up.

“Stupid courage.” She mutters. Trusting Harry to be quick enough to follow, she slinks out. The Hebridean Black doesn’t move, his onyx scales and purple eyes and still body induces more fear than his moving counterpart. His two Golden Eggs are nestled right under his throat.

Hermione and Harry are the only ones moving towards this Dragon. When great purple eyes latch onto her, she ditches any attempt of stealth. Harry still follows her, his hand itching for his wand. The crowd is roaring, yelling to run. Hermione morphs her eyes to match the Dragon’s, and they hear the Horntail roar furiously behind them.

The only source of movement from it are the steady columns of smoke from its nostrils. The columns of smoke stop. Hermione stops a meter from the Dragon’s head, a shaking Harry stopping with her. She opens her mouth, but her voice is cut off. _Nevarmōril_ shoots up from her legs to her arms.

Smoothly, Hermione waves her hands in wide arcs, and bows low, arms held out like wings. Harry is quick to copy her, albeit more clumsier. Those purple eyes narrow.

‡_I, Hermione Eto Mendonica, humbly greet you, Great Dragon,_‡ Hermione hisses. She hears the Horntail howl. Harry perks up, but she pushes his head down.

†_You speak to me in a tongggue I thhhouggghhht longgg lost . . . You seek the fake eggggg do you not?_† He rumbles.

‡_You can ssspeak!_‡ Harry hisses in surprise, and Hermione whacks him.

†_Yes, Gggreat Dragggon, we—_† Hermione starts, but the Hebridean snorts a cloud of smoke in annoyance.

†_You demand thhhis of me withhhout havinggg earned my name._† He growls, ignoring Harry and acknowledging her with his attention. He settles down, smoke escaping between his teeth.

†_Whhhat shhhall we do to earn your name?_† Hermione asks, and she sees something change in his eyes.

†_Our servants thhhink by sending us males in place of our females, we would not inflict hhharsher wounds . . . Thhhey are wrong._† The Hebridean stands up, head lowered over Hermione.

†_As Wingleader, you shhhall survive thhhe Wrathhh of thhhe Draconic Breathhh; unscathhhed. No magic. No aid._† A lethal talon the size of her torso prods her chest none too gently.

†_Thhhat includes your parasite._† He snarls, and Harry glances at her confusedly. _Nevarmōril_ shivers, sending chills down her spine. The Dragon continues.

†_Shhhould you succeed, I shhhall deem you worthhhy of my name and the fake eggggg._† He growls. Hermione doesn’t hesitate.

†_I accept your terms._† Hermione rumbles, and uses her Thrall to push Harry out of the way. Then the Hebridean opens his maw.

* * *

Hermione’s drenched in sweat, the sheer heat making the air ripple. Her robes cling to her as sweat rolls down her back, and smoke builds. Yet she doesn’t move, staring up at the brighter and brighter fire at the back of the furnace that’s the Hebridean’s mouth. She doesn’t close her eyes when ice cold liquid drenches her.

Hermione might be screaming, but all she can think is that she’s in over her head. The fire waterfall is her world, and she can’t move. Her skin is being eaten away, her bones bared, her organs shriveling. Her eyes drying up to little husks, and all she can feel is pain. All this to earn a name? She can’t even remember her own name. Her tongue is gone she thinks.

Purple streaks across the white, and needles spear out from her magic. Then, as soon as it started, the fire is gone. Only _Nevarmōril_ slamming downwards to lock her knees stop her from falling. She shudders. She’s only aware of her heart beating furiously, and her breath pushing out against her skin. A huff of air brings her attention up to the Hebridean.

Her Cursed Fire gushes inside her, burning so bright that she swears there’s a star being born in her heart. As her skin smokes, the Hebridean’s eyes soften, respect gleaming there.

†_I, Kalifajur of the Valley, see you now, Hermione Eto Mendonica, the Ggguardian Underneathhh._† Kalifajur purrs, two talons pressing a Golden Egg into her trembling hands. His tongue flicks out, licking up her entire front. Instantly, her skin stops tingling, and sweat relief fills her body.

He jerks his head at Harry, who darts forward to snatch up his Egg.

†_Gggo now hhhatchling, my servants come,_† Kalifajur rumbles, pushing her away with his talons. Hermione barely remembers to bow, and Harry’s by her side, supporting her.

†_We thhhank you Kalifajur of the Valley for thhhis hhhonor,_† She rasps, turning to trudge back to the tent with Harry.

†_Take care on your firssst rut,_† Kalifajur calls out in farewell, lying back down, smoke pillars once more rising.


	5. To Rut Or Not To Rut: That Is The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s first rut is here, and I don't have to tell you what that means!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about it, so yeah, I'm giving a warning for sexy times ahead.
> 
> If that ain't your cup of tea, then . . .
> 
> Well I don't know what I should tell you to do.
> 
> I guess just skip it, but where's the fun in that?

The aftermath of the Dragon fire makes Hermione’s head woozy, and she barely hears the scores. Angelina won forty-five points, Cedric forty-six, Harry forty-five, and Hermione won forty-eight points. Marcus is disqualified due to lack of Golden Egg. Harry apparently had to fight off Marcus who switched Dragons when he realized Hermione was wreathed in Dragon flame.

The Slytherins are jumping up and down with howls of joy. Overall, Hogwarts is in the lead with thirty-eight more points than Beauxbatons, and in turn they are five more points more above Durmstrang. Hermione looks out in the crowd, seeing the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students sitting with their Champions.

She’s pleased to see that Annie, Kate, and Fleur have Eggs. So have Victor, Dashi, and Kaftarn also have Eggs.

“Now for the Champions with Eggs, you shall proceed to the Second Test, just make sure you’ve opened the Egg before then!” Bagman calls out, ending the First Test.

* * *

Classes return to how they are, the December cold creeping up on the castle, with the exception of Care of Magical Creatures. The Blast-Ended Skrewts have grown to roughly two meters, equipped with heavy, carapace plate-like armor. The biggest change, is in Hermione herself.

After crashing in the first bed she saw upon entering her dorm and sleeping three days straight, she woke to see Daphne smiling wryly down at her. Heat that didn’t belong to _Nevarmōril_ had shot down her spine so fast Hermione had leapt up and took an ice cold shower. Since then, her body has been increasingly hotter, her control over her pheromones starts to strain, and her temper has getting increasingly shorter.

Her rut is coming.

How Kalifajur knew, Hermione doesn’t know but she’s gratefully that he warned her. She keeps a distance from her friends now, having caught herself unconsciously staring at any Omega in her vicinity. Secluding herself deep in the Library away from her usual table, Hermione reads about the numerous volumes documenting Alpha ruts.

Currently her pre-rut hormones have settled for the time being, giving Hermione a reprieve from her air tight control. Near silent footsteps betray another’s presence, and she looks up, sniffing. Fleur Delacour appears around the corner, her posture guarded. They stare, neither willing to back down. Hard cerulean-blue eyes hold Hermione’s amber-brown ones as the Veela Alpha leans against a bookshelf.

»You’re in pre-rut I presume?« Fleur drawls, and Hermione shuts her book.

»Yes.« She’s terse, and also not breathing through her nose so she won’t smell the Veela Alpha’s scent.

»Why haven’t you just shacked up with an Omega already?«

Hermione twitches at the question.

»There’s no one I want to copulate with.« She huffs, and Fleur raises an eyebrow.

»Really?«

Hermione nods, stacking her books very slowly.

»Yes.«

Fleur smirks.

»And here I thought you were an Alfā—« A flare of Hermione’s Alfā pheromones lash out at Fleur. The Veela Alpha gasps and staggers back, and she lowers her eyes. Looking under her lashes, Hermione holds her breath, struggling to regain control. _Nevarmōril_ is strangely quiet, as if it’s resting while she’s being tormented from the inside.

»D-d-do you have suppressants?« Fleur asks, her breathy voice pitched low. It does something to Hermione’s insides, twisting them hottly.

»No. First rut.« She growls, clenching the edge of the table tightly. Fleur nods curtly, straightening up and wiping her face neutral.

»First rut? Well you’re late—«

A growl from Hermione has Fleur changing topics.

»—which is perfectly fine. I suppose Alfā’s have a different rut cycle, and I don’t think any of my suppressants will work for you . . .« The Veela Alpha trails off, acknowledging the glare Hermione’s sending her way. A pounding begins to thump behind her eyes.

»Why are you here Fleur?« Hermione sighs, done with the push-and-pull behavior the Veela Alpha excludes. It’s honestly exhausting. Fleur crosses her arms.

»Well, first of all, you’re giving off enough sub-pheromones that everyone is getting uncomfortable, and I think I saw at least three Omegas entering sympathetic-heats.« She states bluntly, and Hermione pales. She didn’t know she had sub-pheromones.

»Secondly, you stink.«

Of course she had to slip in a barb.

»And thirdly, I want to help you.«

Fleur’s words take some time for Hermione to fully comprehend. She blinks, staring at the Veela Alpha.

»Why?« She asks.

Fleur shrugs.

»I . . .« Now she trails off, but steels herself.

»_We_ owe you for the Dragon tip.« Fleur says slowly, and Hermione raises an eyebrow, her pheromones lowering again.

»I though you already—«

»If you knew about the Dragons, you already knew what kind they were,« Fleur waves her hand dismissively.

»Right now, you need to find a suitable partner to get rid of your rut or suffer through weeks of agony.« Fleur drawls, checking her nails. Hermione’s eyes narrow.

»And you’ll help me find one?« She asks disbelievingly, and finishes stacking her books. Fleur smirks, and pushes off the bookshelf. Sauntering towards her sexily, Hermione’s eyes are glued to the Veela Alpha’s swaying hips. She blinks, and Fleur’s right in front of her, one hand resting on the table.

»Oh honey, you already have one right here.«

* * *

Much later that day, Hermione camps out in the Kitchens. The Hogwarts Elves are ecstatic to have a visitor, and they supplied a simple cot for her to sleep on. House-Elves are unaffected by pheromones, so Hermione can breath easier with hers flowing freely. Her rut is really starting to show itself, and Hermione knows that possibly only Elf magic can restrain her.

An Elf approaches her with a platter of food.

Taffy has Young Miss’ dinner! Taffy squeaks. Grunting her thanks, Hermione inhales her food before flopping back on her cot. The sound of the doors opening jerks her awake, watching with wide eyes as Luna escorts a tittering Elf in. The other Elves grumble distastefully at the new Elf, and Luna waves Hermione over.

She doesn’t move a muscle, and Luna smiles, guiding the Elf over. Clutching her cot, she gives a warning growl, which Luna ignores. Taffy wrings her hands nervously. The Gamma tilts her head, and suddenly she smells heavily like the House-Elves around them. It halts the allure that was building in Hermione’s chest in its tracks.

Her eyes drop to the crying Elf.

“Poppy?” Hermione’s surprised to see Bartemius Sr.’s old Elf here. Unlike the Hogwarts Elves, who are dressed in clean pillowcases, Poppy’s is dirty and ragged.

“Winky’s name—hic—is not—Poppy—hic!” Winky-not-Poppy hiccups, bursting out into tears.

“She needs our help.” Luna says dreamily, watching the tears fall. Taffy takes a step away from Winky.

Young Miss, you’s can speak to Winky in Gaëla! Make her’s not cry, Taffy squeaks, giving Winky a stink eye.

“Winky’s drunk.” Luna says airily, pointing to the empty bottles of Butterbeer lying around.

Why are you crying? Hermione squeaks softly, the Elves around her looking at Hermione in interest.

Winky is a bad Elf! Winky dishonors her Master for picking up a wand! Winky did not cast the Dark Mark! Winky does not know how! Winky knows who dids it, but Winky will not tell! The Elf’s squeaks are slurred.

Your old Master cast you out Winky, he made his own choice not to be with you. Do you think you know better than him? Hermione squeaks sharply, her words cutting right through Winky. The Hogwarts House-Elf stares at Hermione in shock. Luna skips over to Hermione’s cot, flops herself on it, rolls around, then rejoins them.

No! Winky is a good House-Elf— Winky starts, but Hermione won’t have her spiral down into drunken madness. There’s enough here as it is.

Then obey your old Master’s last act. Find a new place to serve, or until you will starve. Hermione squeaks firmly. Winky sniffs, looking around as if seeing the Kitchens for the first time.

C-c-could Winky work for Young Miss? She squeaks softly. Hermione thinks about it, unsure. Luna nods at her.

Alright Winky, I accept. Hermione feels a bond form between Winky and her, just like the one she has with Cobra. She knows he feels it, even in the Mendonica Palace.

“Lady Winky can be our first Revol Elf,” Luna says dreamily, her Elfish scent washing off, and Hermione’s Alfā pheromones surges. Fortunately, Taffy spirits Luna away before Hermione can jump her.

* * *

Hermione wakes that Saturday morning feeling like she had never even slept a wink. Bidding the House-Elves goodbye, she prowls through the empty corridors. Climbing a set of stairs to the seventh floor, she pauses at the _Roar__ of Ornth_ painting, but moves on. Asclepius can wait, and he’ll probably advise her again to find an Omega to ride out her rut.

Hermione’s pheromones surges like bashing waves against her ribcage, rattling her at the thought. Riding her Omega . . . No she can’t . . . Fleur straddled her . . . _Fleur_. Her thoughts cast back to her Veela Alpha’s offer.

* * *

_Hermione just stares at Fleur for the longest time, waiting for the punch line. Anger blooms unexpectedly._

_»Don’t joke.« She snarls, shoving the Veela Alpha away. Fleur just gaps, while Hermione levitates her stack of books. Storming off, she starts to manually replace each book back in its place. The fast clipped sounds of Fleur’s shoes sound behind her._

_»You think that was a_ joke?!_« The Veela Alpha hisses, now royally pissed. Hermione doesn’t turn around, placing the first tof many books on its shelf._

_»Obviously. What happened to you loathing my mere existence?« She snarks, and Fleur snarls._

_»Don’t humble yourself needlessly, it pisses me off._ You _of all Veela don’t just have a ‘mere’ existence—and my offer was a logical one!«_

_At this, Hermione whirls around, and shoves Fleur against the opposite bookshelf. Before she can escape, Hermione’s hands cage her in, and she looms close. The Veela Alpha’s breathes are shallow and erratic, and her eyes dart to Hermione’s lips._

_»Do you fuck your strangers, Fleur?« Hermione asks slowly, her eyes morphing into snake red eyes._

_»No!«_

_Hermione’s Alfā pheromones rile underneath her skin, purring to be set free._

_»But what am I to you?« Hermione presses, and the Veela Alpha shuts her mouth._

_»We know nothing personal about each other, and I’m done being patient.« Hermione snaps her teeth in Fleur’s face. To her credit the Veela Alpha doesn’t flinch._

_»You’ve gone back and forth from coyly seductive to flat out rejection, and that ends now. You can’t play with a predator and not expect me to react.« Hermione says darkly, and she realizes she’s closing the distance between them as she speaks. There’s only a hairsbreadth of space between them, and Fleur looks like she’s going to burst._

_»So you will answer me now, and exactly, right now,« Hermione presses their fronts together, and both their breaths hitch._

_»Have you been stalking me? Is being a bipolar bitch your way of courting me?« She asks, her lips trailing up Fleur’s jawline. She’s honestly surprised neither of them have released their pent up pheromones yet. The air around them is hot, and unbeknownst to them—they’re sweating. Fleur’s thinner, silk Beauxbatons uniform clings to her every curve, and Hermione’s robes mold to her body._

_»No—I was hunting,« Fleur corrects, and Hermione nips her sharply on the cheek for it. She’s sure to leave a noticeable little red mark._

_»Now,« Hermione leans towards Fleur’s ear, huffing her hot breath on it. Fleur shudders under her, a little moan escaping her as her Thrall and pheromones leak out unbidden. Hermione groans as she feels it lick tauntingly against her skin._

_»Does that mean you want me to fuck you?« She purrs, chomping down on the red shell of Fleur’s ear._

_»YES! By Rozanica, fucking yes!« Fleur half moans half screams, and she grabs at Hermione. Detaching from the marked ear, the Veela Alpha clash their lips together in a frenzy of teeth, Thrall, and pheromones. Hermione’s fingers clutch silken flesh barely concealing a fluttering pulse, and she hikes Fleur’s climbing leg on her hip._

_They’re burning twin stars, orbiting each other until they had to meet in the center. It was inevitable. While Hermione accepted it, Fleur resisted, until she could resist no more. Their Thralls and pheromones mesh, rolling and combining while also invading the other. Hermione moans when her tongue enters Fleur’s mouth. Her hands roam, clawing at the skin covered by silk._

_Heat from her core rages, and she tries to pull the Veela Alpha against her body like she’s starving for air. Hermione wedges a knee between Fleur’s legs, and she immediately feels the dampness of it. Her hands lift Fleur’s other leg, and the Veela Alpha crosses them behind Hermione’s back, digging into her new sensitive spot._

_Fleur groans against Hermione’s mouth, and she presses the heels of her shoes against the small of Hermione’s back. In the next instant, they’re on the floor, since Hermione’s legs gave out. Hermione takes advantage of a dazed Fleur, and she drops her full weight on the Veela Alpha. Fleur groans, and one hand darts up to fist in Hermione’s hair while the other claws straight down her spine._

_Hermione arches into Fleur, an obscene moan spilling from her lips as pleasure floods her system, quickly followed by the nerve wracking after tingles of bliss. Fleur eyes dilate instantly, and one turns dark-red. Hermione’s red snake eyes glow brighter, and she lunges down on her prey under her. Her kiss is brutal as she seeks to devour her prey._

_Her rampage on her prey’s mouth and tongue soon are left for the strong jawline. Her prey can only ride out her conquest, as the only law in her head is that of the need to fill another. She’s burning down there, and it’s tight and she knows only her prey can alleviate that. Both predator and prey groan when Hermione thrusts sharply against her prey’s core._

_The tightness in her trousers gets worse, and she reaches down to—_

_“_MISS MENDONICA HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!_”_

_Hermione and Fleur jerk out of their lust induced haze at the screeching of Madam Pince. The Alpha woman levels her wand at them, rage twisting her features. They both have the self preservation to scramble away and flee for their lives as Madam Pince chases them out._

_“_—NEVER RETURN! _THE_ DISGRACE! _THE_ DESECRATION! _I_ BANSIH YOU! _I_ BANISH YOU! _I_ BANISH YOU! I—_” Spells and new wards are being cast, but Hermione and Fleur are long gone._

* * *

Hermione paces in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach Trolls ballet. Her need to find a safe place heightens. Suddenly, a door materializes on the wall next to her. Looking around, she walks towards it, opening it. Stepping through and shutting the door, Hermione enters what seems like another world, trees lining the outline of the large room.

Gentle sunlight filters from the ceiling, shining down on the open meadow. On the other side, a big pond lies with a trickling rock waterfall flowing into it. A huge, flat boulder is situated right next to the pond, tall and proud. Hermione feels a sensation move inside her, and she morphs.

Her Ancient Chimoretis form bursts free, and she stretches cat-like, her mind reconnecting with having four heads. She trots towards the rock, circling on it before flopping down. Hermione’s three front heads lie down, soaking up the warmth from the rock. Small fish in the pond swim lazily, Hermione’s front paw hanging off the edge of the rock.

She can imagine fucking Fleur in this form against this rock. She shifts uncomfortably as her core tightens. The place shifts, a fluffy nest of moss appearing next to the rock. Staring at it, Hermione wonders what room this is, and a piece of paper appears next to her. Her goat head leans over, reading about the Room of Requirement.

Morphing back, Hermione stretches out languidly, crackling madly.

* * *

Hermione skips dinner, waiting for Fleur to exit. When her Veela Alpha does, they lock eyes, and Hermione smiles wickedly. Her prey bolts into a sprint, and she leaps after her. Adrenaline pumping through their bodies, they race through the castle, chasing one another.

It isn’t long before Hermione lures Fleur onto on the seventh floor, and pushes her into the Room of Requirement. It’s exactlyhow she remembered it. Hermione slams Fleur against a tree, closing her eyes as she savors the silky, plushness of the Veela Alpha. Working her mouth against Fleur’s she probes closed lips with her tongue, Fleur opening immediately.

Her tongue darts in, sliding sensually along Fleur’s, causing the coiled heat in her neither region to throb. Hoisting Fleur up again, she grinds that new tightness against Fleur’s core, and the Veela Alpha moans. She claws at Hermione, trying to pull her closer. Hermione’s hands rake over Beauxbatons robes, the back of milky thighs, and then under the ruffles of a blue skirt. Zeroing in on the cerulean-blue eyes, Hermione finds lacy lingerie.

Fleur moans as their tongues battle for dominance, and Hermione’s Thrall and Alfā pheromones seem to batter in her own, shattering any control she has left. Her hands leave dark-brown locks, digging into sharp shoulder blades. Fleur’s legs clench, needing to wrap around the Hermione down there—her _Alfā_. She _needs_ the digging fingers gripping her lingerie to travel _higher_.

Fleur’s Alfā smirks against her lips, her tongue feeling longer than it was before. It winds around her oral muscle, binding their mouths together. As if her thoughts were read, her Alfā’s fingers slip under and then—Fleur moans wantonly as a ghost of a touch passes over her core. She’s already so _ready_—she just needs _more!_

Her breath quickens, and she bites down on her Alfā’s tongue. She’s swamped with thick pleasure, and a pounding pressure tightens in her body. Suddenly, Fleur’s on the grass, thrashing as her Alfā pins her down and slides three fingers in her entrance. Fleur screams at the stretch, and she grows even wetter at the fullness.

But she still needs _more_. Her Alfā detangles her tongue from Fleur’s, and wastes no time clamping down on the softest flesh between her jaws. Her hand begins to thrust in and out at a bruising pace, and Fleur only loves her Alfā even more for it. When those fingers twist evilly, she wails at the new stretch, and clenches down. Her stomach twists, her muscles spasming in anticipation.

Fleur’s body jerks, thrusting her hips up with the ultimate power grinding a tight bulge down on her.

»Alfā! Alfā! _Alfā!_« She chants, losing herself to the mounting of something inside her. Suddenly—_cruelly_—her Alfā rips her fingers out.

»_NO!_« Fleur howls, her body erupting in feathers as her talons slice through her Alfā’s clothes. She wants her Alfā and she wants her now! Her Alfā roars, and Fleur and her true Veela moan at the dominance of it. Then she’s gasping for breath as her Alfā wraps one hand around her throat, squeezing the sides just enough to elevate her heart more.

»You. Are. _Mine!_« Her Alfā howls, and rams glorious, her rut-made member _deep_ into Fleur.

* * *

When Hermione opens her eyes with the dawn, she’s greeted by the stunning vision of her lover’s face. Under a blanket provided by the Room of Requirement, their bodies are meshed together. Contentment eddies throughout her own body, and Hermione smiles, nuzzling closer to Fleur’s neck. Her member is gone, that much she knows instantly.

Even _Nevarmōril_—which started to stir after her rut was completely stated—is content. It lazily swims along her spine, rapping against her ribcage. Hermione puffs cold air along the elegant curve of neck, and trails her nose up it. Her pheromones and Thrall are calm, having unleashed the full force of her rut on her lover.

Hermione slowly licks at pale skin, her tongue still morphed longer than its usual length. A hand tightening ever so slightly at the nape of her neck tells her that Fleur’s waking. Hermione straightens out her legs that are intertwined with her lover’s, brushing against shed feathers, trying to feel as much of the Veela Alpha’s skin as she can.


	6. Unwrapped And Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a different kind of pillow talk, gets a dress, and has a baby!

Hermione trails one hand softly between them, pressing it firmly against Fleur’s front. The other digs into the base of her lover’s spine, forcing Fleur to tilt her hips into Hermione’s. There’s a sharp gasp from the Veela Alpha in her clutches as they grind slowly.

»Alfā,« Fleur purrs, arching into Hermione’s touch. Silvery-blond hair falls across her shoulders as the Veela Alpha wraps her arms around Hermione’s neck. Talented fingers playing with her hair. Hermione’s hand between them ghosts around Fleur’s full breasts and scraps up to Fleur’s scalp.

The purring deepens, the Veela Alpha whining. Hermione flips Fleur onto her back, grinding sharply in the same motion. Her mouth latches onto the numerous marks and blooming bruises decorating her lover’s throat. Fleur moans, wrapping her legs around Hermione’s. She can smell the growing arousal of the Veela under her, and it restarts the heat in her.

»I—Isn’t your rut—_oh!_—over!« Fleur gasps, as Hermione sinks sharpened teeth into her jugular. Hermione growls, shaking her head a little, and Fleur goes limp, purring louder.

»It is.« Hermione says simply, propping herself on her elbows. Fleur’s eyes flutter weakly. She detaches her fangs with a wet pop, licking her magic over the new wound. The warmth in her churns, wanting more. Fleur shudders, and yanks Hermione up to connect their lips. They moan, Hermione dropping her weight on Fleur.

The Veela Alpha’s fingers sink into her hair, pressing their moving mouthes harder against each other. Hermione’s tongue darts in, dancing with Fleur’s. Her hands claw down her lover’s sides, dip around her lean hips and to her arse. Leaning forwards, Hermione keeps her lips firmly planted on Fleur’s, forcing the Veela Alpha’s head back.

In a smooth motion, she lifts Fleur’s long legs up and around her own waist. Shuffling forwards on her knees, Hermione stacks her lover, Fleur having no choice but to hold onto her shoulders for balance. Hermione breaks off the kiss, gasping for air, staring down at the erotic view of the dissolved and aroused Veela Alpha beneath her.

The heat inside her funnels down between her legs, and she shudders. Fleur’s cerulean-blue eyes dart down, then tauntingly up again. Hermione smirks, ready to answer with her body, when the sound of her lover’s stomach growling stops her. They stare at each other, and Hermione chuckles.

»It seems you need to eat,« Hermione snickers, gently pulling a discombobulated Fleur into her lap. Her lover wraps herself around Hermione, clinging on tightly.

»No.« Fleur growls, turning her head to lick a path from Hermione’s shoulder to her jaw. Hermione stills, the food she wished for appearing on a picnic blanket next to them.

»Is ‘no’ your favorite word?« Hermione teases, reaching for a warm and flaky croissant.

»No,« Fleur whines, her tongue lapping at Hermione’s throat.

“Ma Loutre [My Otter], we must eat,” She murmurs, and Fleur hums.

“I can think of other things you can eat,” The Veela Alpha whispers in Hermione’s ear, sending shivers down her spine. _Nevarmōril_ stirs, waiting eagerly. Flashes of Fleur utterly spent and splayed out for her to feast on from last night circulate in her brain. The Veela Alpha smirks, a knowing glint in her eyes. The lingering heat between her legs spike.

“Alfā,” She moans, tilting her head to the side, presenting her bare, marked neck. There are delightful bruises and bite marks all over, and of course, the giant hickey under her jaw. She can still see the dark redness from the deep indents where her teeth sank into succulent flesh. The bruising is the darkest there, and a swell of pride grows in Hermione’s chest at the sight of her successful hunt.

“Alfā, please,” Her lover pleads, rocking against Hermione. She shakes at that breathy, begging tone. She’s unable to resist, and her teeth clamp down on her claiming mark. Fleur’s triumphant and pleasure filled cry fills the Room of Requirement. Hermione’s eyes blaze, turning dark-red, and she morphs her lower body.

»Be careful what you wish for,« She growls in warning before she sheaths herself again into Fleur’s wet core.

* * *

Hermione throughly fucks her lover senseless, Fleur eagerly riding out her sympathetic-rut. They roll around on the ground, and Hermione pins Fleur to a tree, taking her from behind. She drags the Veela Alpha to the rock over looking the pond, and pounds into Fleur while her lover wildly chomps her claim up and down on her own neck. Fleur even pulls Hermione into the pond itself, their howls echoing as they cum together.

Much later, reclining lazily on the rock, Fleur arches her back into Hermione, reaching behind herself to stroke Hermione’s face. She wraps her arms around her lover, hearing her stomach growl again.

»We really need to eat.« Hermione yawns, the food from before reappearing. Fleur grumbles, but falls upon the meat, bread, cheese, and fruit. Hermione joins her, sharing sly smiles with her Veela Alpha as they take turns feeding each other. Hermione nips Fleur’s fingers playfully. Soon, the food is gone, and they curl up intwined as sleep sweeps over them.

* * *

Hermione isn’t sure how long she spends with Fleur in the Room of Requirement. Her experiences are solely of eating, sleeping, playing, and fucking with her lover. By now, their scents have intermingled so deeply that it’ll be obvious to a child that they claimed each other.

It’s only when Err’sh appears with a letter from a frantic Daphne with an annotation from Beta Tracey that persuades Hermione to leave the sex haven. Fleur draps herself against Hermione’s back, reading the short, blunt letter with a scowl, and shreds it appart.

»Fleur,« Hermione chides, but the Veela Alpha just presses her face against Hermione’s neck, grumbling petulantly.

»So what? We only missed eight days,« Fleur snorts, tracing patterns on Hermione’s arms.

»Oh yes Ma Loutre [My Otter], I don’t know why anyone would freak out if we disappeared for eight straight days.« Hermione drawls sarcastically, and turns her head to give a quick kiss to the Veela Alpha. Both purr lovingly.

»It’s a respectable number for a rut,« Fleur murmurs silkily, and Hermione chuckles.

»I have to return to my King of Slytherin duties. I can’t leave Daphne out there trying to hold order together,« Hermione yawns, and leans back against her lover. Fleur’s hands on her arms tighten.

»Why can’t you leave her?« Fleur asks tersely. Hermione yawns.

»She’s my best friend, and my Queen of Slytherin.«

Fleur hisses at that, and she wraps her arms tight around Hermione’s torso.

»No. You are _mine_—no one else’s! Especially that Beta!« Fleur snarls, and Hermione snaps her eyes up at her furious lover.

»Fleur. Just because Daphne is my Queen of Slytherin doesn’t mean I love her more than you,« Fleur still grinds her teeth.

»You still love her!«

»I do.« Hermione surprises herself at the absoluteness of her statement. She sits up, and cradles the silently crying Fleur against her.

»I love her, and I love _you_. Our loves might be different, but one does not triumph over the other, they are equal in weight, in a sense. Do you understand?« She soothes, rocking them. Fleur hiccups, but nods slowly.

»So you . . . You love her like I love Kate . . . Like I love you?« Fleur stammers, trying to wrap her mind around this new concept. Hermione nods.

»Do I have to _share_ you then?« Fleur whines, and Hermione huffs.

»You always have to share me,« She drawls, and her lover rolls her eyes.

»You _know_ what I mean,«

»Well, are you opposed to having an open relationship?«

Fleur bites her bottom lip.

»Like . . . Polygamy?«

Hermione shrugs.

»That too.«

Fleur thinks for a moment, then she too shrugs.

»As long as you keep me in the loop, I suppose I can share you.« Fleur grumbles, pushing her red face into Hermione’s collarbones. Hermione’s amber-brown eyes light up, and she purrs thinking about the future.

* * *

There has never been more people to sign up to stay over the holidays. Fourth year girls and up can be seen traveling in large groups, giggling at the boys who try to pull aside a single girl. When Hermione and Fleur emerge from the Room of Requirement, it’s tricky getting to their respective sleeping quarters.

Even then, Hermione is accosted in the tatters of her Hogwarts robes by a furious Professor Snape. He does a double take when he sees her and fearing the worst, reaches out to whisk her off to the Hospital Wing. But when he catches a whiff of her scent, he sighs loudly, and offers a weary congratulations.

Hermione and Professor Snape avoid eye contact as he escorts her up to Dumbledore. She ignored the old Alpha’s lecture, and returns to the Slytherin Common Room having lost her House a measly few dozen points. Every Slytherin is ecstatic to have her back, especially her Court. Daphne ran at her and tackled her, crying and yelling in French.

Astoria has yet to let go of Hermione’s hand, and her eyes widen when she smells the change in her scent. She’s the first to do so. Daphne realizes it a second after pressing her face into Hermione, and her face goes starch white. Before she can pull away, Hermione wraps an arm around her waist, trapping her there as the Slytherin House rejoices at her presence.

Many thought she had been held captive by another school, while her Court were on the verge of declaring war against Durmstrang. Beta Tracey whispers in her ear about how Daphne was on a warpath, and somehow even managed to frighten the stone cold Alpha Kaftarn Adorna. However, everyone has mixed reactions to her new scent.

Astoria keeps glancing between Daphne and Hermione, worry evident in her eyes. Her dorm mates—other than a shell shocked Daphne—greatly approve of it. Her nieces grumble and swear at the Delacour House in general, but they agree to lay off Fleur. Although that doesn’t stop them from stalking Fleur from afar to discover any flaw they can find.

Kate looks ecstatic, and Hermione catches her planning what their wedding would look like. The rest of her pack—except Luna who doesn’t act any different—were wary of the new development.

“Just, be careful Lurch,” Harold had cautioned. However, their concerns are replaced by the thrill of students trying to find a date for the Yule Ball. Beta Tracey’s constantly spouting the stats of potential dates, informing Hermione and the rest of their female year mates that Kaftarn asked out Alpha Cassius Warrington.

Cedric is going with Omega Cho Chang, and his Queen of Hufflepuff; Alpha Anthony Rickett; is going with his Beta of Hufflepuff; Beta Tamsin Applebee. Beta Marcus is in disgrace, and there are rumors that the mysterious Ravenclaw King-in-waiting will usurp him.

Angelina is going with Fred, Alpha Dashi Ivanova’s date is George, and Victor is going stag. Annie’s official date is Kate—Hermione saw that one coming—and Claire simply is sharing Kate for the Ball. Fleur is approached multiple times by the Ravenclaw Alpha Roger Davies, even though she proudly displays all of Hermione’s markings.

So after a brief talk about date candidates with Hermione, Fleur begrudgingly accepts his date offer. To be honest, the only reason Hermione said to go for it is because she trusts Beta Tracey’s hunch that Roger is the mysterious King-in-waiting. Now in the Slytherin House, as their King, Hermione’s been approached by practically all the boys in Fourth year and up for permission to ask out the Slytherin girl they want.

Even Neville and Harold approach her at lunch, wanting to take Roseanne and Beta Tracey as their respective dates. Hermione approves of the requests, and the two girls grinning when they hear her acceptance. Pansy pairs up with Blaise, Theodore with Millicent, and Draco with Omega Tracey. Flora and Hestia are going with Vincent and Gregory.

So far the only match from her House that wasn’t approved of was Astoria’s. The young Alpha was cornered by Alpha Romnog Poliakoff—who was disqualified from the Durmstrang Champions—and he asked her out. She refused, and when he didn’t get the memo, Astoria emphasized her statement with a quick kick to the balls.

Luna comes around eventually, asking if she can take Harry as her date. So far, only Victor is truly scrambling, and his fangirls are closing in. Hermione also notices that everyone seems to be waiting for her choice. Daphne likewise seems to be keeping close to her, and Hermione gets the impression of a predator patrolling her territory.

Astoria of course doesn’t say anything about who her date should be, but Hermione can tell that the young Alpha wants it to be her sister. Her obvious glances aren’t very Slytherin.

With only a week left before the Yule Ball, Hermione tries to figure out how to ask out Daphne. The Beta keeps a new barrier between them, and Hermione knows her new scent is putting her off. Walking through the halls, she pauses when she sees Daphne staring imperiously at Ron.

“—my date?” She hears the Beta ask, and Hermione changes course. Daphne looks like she’s sucked a lemon, and when she sees Hermione, she brightens. Pushing past Ron, the Beta looks so relieved.

“Hermione—_hmph!_” Daphne’s gasp is swallowed by Hermione’s mouth.

* * *

Hermione grips the Beta’s cheeks firmly, and moves her lips languidly. Daphne’s brilliant grass-green eyes are the widest Hermione’s ever seen them, and she lets a shrill keening sound. She swipes her still morphed tongue against Daphne’s closed lips, and they part. Daphne’s knees give out, and Hermione has to hold the limp Beta against her body.

A low purring builds in Hermione’s chest, and _Nevarmōril_ shudders, sending starbursts of bliss through her body. Tangling her tongue around Daphne’s, she sucks on the Beta’s own oral muscle. Looking up, she stares at Ron’s shocked expression, his jaw dropped. Breaking the kiss, Hermione morphs her tongue back to its normal length.

Ignoring the crowd, she stares into lust-glazed Greengrass eyes.

“Daphne Greengrass, will you be my date?” Hermione drawls. Daphne has to blink to get control of herself.

“Absolutely,”

* * *

It’s three days until Yule, and Hermione rises early, dressing lightly despite the cold weather. Sneaking into the Beauxbatons carriage, she enters a grand lobby, twin staircases leading up to a second floor. Sniffing, she climbs the stairs, turning right. She forces herself to keep walking past Fleur’s room. Soon, Hermione enters Annie’s room.

Looking around, she sees that the twins have a jack-and-jill bathroom connecting their rooms. Makes her job easier. Locking the door, she leans over the sleeping Alpha. Smirking, Hermione swats her niece lightly across the stomach with her Thrall. Annie shrieks, leaping up only to entangle herself in her covers.

»Annie?!« Claire bursts into the room, skidding to a stop with a letter opener clutched in her hand. Annie rips through her covers, her snarl dying when she sees Hermione.

»_You?!_ What—DO YOU KNOW WHAT _TIME_ IT IS?!« Annie howls, Cursed Fire racing along her arms. Hermione rolls her eyes.

»I need you to Apparate me.«

»Why?« Claire asks.

»No! Go away and let us sleep!« Annie yowls, raising a hand to throw her fire.

»You may take me shopping.” Hermione sighs. They immediately brighten, and Annie extinguishes her Cursed Fire.

»What do you need?«

* * *

On the morning of Yule, Hermione wakes up to Err’sh nibbling her ear. Grumbling, she gets up, and gets ready for the day. Sifting through her gifts, she pulls on Molly’s new Slytherin turtle neck sweater, and adds Draco’s new broom attachment to her growing collection.

Unwrapping Luna’s small parcel, Hermione reads out the letter first, holding the gift. The Gamma gave a left bracelet-cuff to all the Revols. It’s plain band of metal, but looking closer, it’s engraved with little snakes and other reptiles. In the letter, Luna explains that the “_Revol Keys_” are all linked to each of the other three.

Each are charmed to work and be worn for only Hermione, Luna Neville, and Harold respectfully, and will get warmer as they draw closer to their siblings when their wearers can’t see each other. The _Keys_ are also charmed with a multi-use Portkey—hence the name—to each other, but not through wards preventing Portkeys.

Their signature feature, is the telepathic communication enabler built into the metal, hidden amongst the animal engravings. To activate the _Key’s_ mental link, the wearer must simply clench their four left fingers rapidly twice. When a Revol is linked up, the _Key_ will start to heat-flash.

Sliding her _Key_ on, the seam welds together, shrinking to comfortably fit her wrist. When she moves to take it off, the _Key_ unwields. The last gift is a simple box, no name, nothing. Nothing except the scent of the woods, strong wolf musk, and a hint of snake blood. Sniffing, she wonders what Tarow has given her this time.

The inside of the box is made of dark velvet green plush, cupping a single egg in the center. Picking it up, she holds it close, shining it through different angles of light. Putting the egg back, Hermione stands, heading out to visit Asclepius. Err’sh flaps onto her shoulder, trilling softly as he nibbles her ear.

Entering the Chamber of Secrets via the _Roar of Ornth_, she walks down to the nest. Err’sh fluffs his feathers against the cold. Asclepius stirs, and Err’sh clacks nervously.

‡_Asssccclepiusss, may your clossse your eyesss?_‡ She hisses.

‡_Yesss, Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper. [Speaker-Queen-Usurper.]_‡ The Basilisk hisses, rising up with his magnificent eyes shut. He flicks his tongue, tasting Err’sh in the air. Her Familiar eyes Asclepius skeptically, but doesn’t speak. He probably still remembers fighting the Mad Queen.

‡_You have an egg . . . But not yoursss,_‡ Asclepius hisses, flicking his tongue. Hermione takes the box from her pocket, holding the egg. Suddenly, it shakes. Err’sh jumps, staring at it.

‡_It’s alive!_‡ Hermione hisses, shocked that Tarow would risk gifting a live creature. Asclepius flicks his tongue, hissing his annoyance wordlessly, then leans forwards to lick her forehead.

‡_I have never ssseen a Sssroosss-Sssirasss [Brood-Mother] who hasss not known how to care for her Sssrooss. [Brood.]_‡ He hisses comfortingly. Err’sh leans down, looking at the shaking egg from her shoulders. A crack appears, and little by little, a small hole appears.

‡_Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] . . . May I be the firssst to bessstow a gift to your Sssroosss? [Brood?] . . . .My eyesss ssshall not harm thisss one,_‡ Asclepius asks, bowing his head.

‡_You may, Err’sssh—_‡ She doesn’t have to warn him, for Err’sh keeps his eyes on the egg. Asclepius slithers forwards, leaning closer to the egg. The cracks grow bigger, and soon, Hermione sees a tiny egg-tooth. Eyes wide, the odd trio watch as a small hatchling pokes it’s head out, eyes still closed.

It darts a hint of a tongue out, then opens its eyes, staring at Hermione, then Err’sh, and finally Asclepius. He tilts his great head, and the hatchling mimicks him. Slowly, the hatchling flicks out a magenta tongue tasting them. Hermione feels the old bond with Eros expand, reaching out to the hatchling.

Smiling brightly, she laughs a little when the hatchling readily accepts the bond, turning to face her.

‡Beautiful Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Brood-Daughter], what’sss your name?‡ She hisses, stroking the tiny head. The rest of the hatchling rises, Hermione gasping as she recognizes the serpent. Blinking intelligent, fierce deep blue eyes, a shimmering deep topaz gem rests on its forehead, between its two, tiny, white horns.

The hatchling slithers out of it’s egg, quickly coiling around her fingers. It’s soft scales are completely a darker purple color, with burgundy underside. On its tail, are four, tiny white spikes. The box slips from Hermione’s fingers unnoticed.

‡_I . . . Am . . . Tyche . . . Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother]._‡ Hatchling Tyche hisses, nuzzling Hermione’s fingers. Holding Tyche close to her, she feels Tyche wind her way around the Revol Key, and up her two necklaces.

‡_Who . . . Are . . . You?_‡ Tyche hisses, curling around her left ear, looking at Err’sh and Asclepius. The latter bows his head.

‡_I am Sssersssonal-Sssionasss-Sssasssvisssor [Personal-Council-Advisor] Asssccclepiusss . . . Named by Ssspeaker-Sssueensss-Usssurper [Speaker-Queen-Usurper] . . . You are Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss. [Queen-Brood-Daughter.]_‡ Asclepius hisses respectfully. Tyche hisses happily, curling tighter around her ear.

‡_Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] . . . Isss . . . Ssso . . . Warm,_‡ Tyche yawns, falling asleep. Hermione strokes Tyche gently and Err’sh croons to the hatchling.

‡_My gift to Sssueensss-Sssroosss-Sssanasss [Queen-Brood-Daughter] Tyche isss immunity to my gazzze . . . Ssshe alssso hasss partttial paralyzzzing abilitiesss,_‡ Asclepius pauses, unsure of himself.

‡_I am sssorry if I overssslithered myssself,_‡ He hisses, but Hermione morphs her eyes, looking at him warmly.

‡_You haven’t. I thank you, Asssccclepiusss._‡


	7. Let The Ball Commene!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes to a dance, chaos ensues, and solves a riddle!

No reporters are allowed on campus for the Yule Ball, and for that, Hermione’s grateful. She doesn’t know what she’d do to Rita Skeeter if she caught her there. Instead of changing in her own dorm, Astoria drags Hermione to her dorm and away from the prying eyes of Hermione’s dorm mates.

Tyche—still coiled around Hermione’s left ear—sneezes, and Astoria tilts her head confusedly at the noise. Hermione locks the bathroom door behind her, and scratches the underside of Tyche’s chin.

‡_What isss it, Beautiful?_‡

‡_It . . . Ssstinksss . . . Like . . . Wet . . . Sssroosss-Sssroosssesss [Brood-Brother] Err’sssh!_‡ Tyche hisses, turning her face into Hermione’s skin. Giggling at Tyche’s whines, she starts to undress.

‡_Your Sssroosss-Sssroosssesss [Brood-Brother] sssaysss you ssstink too, Tyche,_‡ The Horned Serpent hisses petulantly at that.

‡_I’ll arrange another lessson with Asssccclepiusss on how to manage your sssmell then,_‡ Hermione hisses, and Tyche sighs. Already, she doesn’t like lessons, calling Asclepius a boring old snake. Hermione levitates her dress and shoes out of their box, and magically slides it over her body.

Turning to the full length mirror, Hermione’s glad that Annie, Claire, and Kate demanded to do her hair before putting on the dress. At first glance, it looks like a messy bun, but in reality it’s multiple braids woven together on top of her head. Carefully selected strands of hair hang along her neck and on the sides of her face. The only make-up she subjected herself to are the kohl wings at the corners of her eyes, accenting her amber-brown eyes.

Her gorgeous cocktail dress is slim, sheer, silk fabric so dark-green it shimmers black. The front is held up by a silk strip looped around her neck, threaded through a metal ring from which the rest of the dress hangs loosely from. Other than the strip of fabric crossing her shoulder blades to keep the fabric across her chest tight, the dress is backless to the small of her back. The four slits starting from the middle of her thighs on the bottom half of the dress flow out like rippling rivers.

On her right arm, the separate, matching, pointed gauntlet sleeve with Astoria’s magical bracelet contrasts asymmetrically with her bare left arm with only her Revol Key. Sleek, black stilettos adorn her feet, and criss-crossing straps magically cling to her calves. Twirling, she wordlessly _Disillusions_ her _Black Blade_.

Reaching up, she strokes Tyche’s head, and her hatchling Familiar flicks her tongue happily. Hermione has to admit, she looks _damn_ sexy.

* * *

Opening the bathroom door, all of Astoria’s dorm mates stare open mouthed at her. Hermione smirks at the reaction. Astoria herself is gobsmacked, and follows Hermione with a glazed reverent look. Sauntering down to the Common Room, the strips around her legs flutter and swish sensually, and Hermione feels like she’s gliding.

All eyes fall upon her in awe, and a hush falls, and she inwardly preens. _Nevarmōril_ weaves around her ribs gleefully, soaking up her pride and permeating out bliss. Heat fills her limbs, and she stalks towards her Beta as she emits subtle Alfā pheromones. Daphne’s flushed a deep red, her mouth parted, and her eyes are alight.

The Beta’s dress is a simple dark-silver, elegant, floor length gown, and it matches perfectly with Hermione’s. Even though Daphne’s wearing high heels, she’s still much shorter than Hermione, and they both like that. Stopping in front of Daphne, she offers her arm, and the Beta takes it. Beta Tracey appears on her other side, grinning madly at them.

Hermione smirks, and leads Slytherin House to the ball. Other students in the halls gawk and stare as the procession of snakes pass by. Upon arriving at the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione nudges a suddenly shy Beta Tracey towards a nervous Harold. Astoria gives a thumbs up to Hermione and Daphne, then leads the rest of the Slytherins into the Great Hall.

Backing up to the side of the doors, they wait for the other Champions. Luna and Harry arrive, the latter in sharp looking black robes. Luna’s wearing a clash of rainbow and neon colors, with butterflies and salamanders attached to it. Her hair is in a ponytail, her wand sticking through it.

She skips towards Hermione, and hugs her, unruffled by the baffled looks she garners. Harry waves at Hermione, blushing hard when she waves back.

“I like your Horned Serpent, what’s her name?” Luna says dreamily. Daphne blinks rapidly, and her eyes rove over Hermione’s face. She bends down so the Gamma can stroke Tyche’s head. Her blue, eagle _Revol Key_ glints in the candlelight.

“Her name is Tyche.”

Luna nods happily. Tyche flicks her tongue.

‡_Sssmellsss . . . Niccce._‡ Tyche hisses. Luna skips back to Harry, and they enter. Motion catches in the corner of Hermione’s eye, and she sees the four Veela.

* * *

Annie and Claire both are wearing similar sea-green dresses that compliment each other, with a blushing Kate sandwiched between them in navy blue. Claire leans down to press a sensual, lingering kiss on Kate’s cheek, and Annie smiles proudly when Kate flushes. Daphne’s eyes widen at the sight, while Hermione chuckles to herself. Claire leans up, sends a wink towards her twin, and then sashaying into the Great Hall to wait for the pair.

Fleur and Roger approach more slowly, the dazed Alpha staring at Fleur while the Veela Alpha only has eyes for Hermione and Daphne. The Beta stiffens, and straightens her spine, her hand twitching on Hermione’s arm. Fleur flicks her hair, and Hermione can’t help follow the motion with her eyes.

The Veela Alpha is wearing a silver-grey silk dress that ripples like the wind. The Veela Alpha’s hair is up in a beautiful braid and bun, not a single pin or sparkle out of place.A smile spreads across her face, and Fleur echoes it, stopping just shy of touching their fronts together. _Nevarmōril_ purrs at her proximity, and settles heavily at the base of her spine.

Roger makes a high noise, but doesn’t intervene. Now Daphne’s hand tightens on Hermione’s arm. In a synchronized motion, Hermione and Fleur turn to stare at the Beta, whose eyes widen even more. Their auras are that of hunters sighting their prey. It’s Fleur who takes a step forwards, and Daphne shivers.

Flawless fingers grip the Beta’s chin, tilting her head up. The two stare at each other, and Hermione holds her breath in anticipation. She had left the decision up to Fleur to deem Daphne worthy, and she hopes she won’t be disappointed. Fleur’s Thrall rises from her, and she trails it along the Beta’s skin.

Daphne gasps, and shudders. Fleur’s eyes light up, and she looks at Hermione.

»She’s highly receptive to Thrall, I suppose that’s your doing?« She gasps. Hermione just shrugs.

»It wasn’t my intent if that what you’re hinting,« Fleur raises an eyebrow, and lets go of Daphne. The Beta blinks rapidly, trying to clear her mind.

»She’s . . . Interesting.« Fleur drawls, trying to draw in her intrigue at Daphne’s Thrall sensitivity. Hermione smirks, and Daphne fidgets as Fleur takes up a nonchalant stance next to her. Roger is red in the face, his hands covering his lower section. Soon, the rest of the Champions arrive.

Professor McGonagall quickly approaches them, her red dress swishing around her legs. Arranging the Champions and their dates in two lines, she puts Hermione and Fleur in second place. Looking behind her, she instantly notices a grimacing Victor with his date, the smug Omega Lavender Brown.

Behind them, Alpha Adrian Pucey waves at her, smirking as he stands proudly next to the Champions Alpha Dashi Ivanova.

“Champions, this way!” Professor McGonagall says, ushering them inside the Great Hall. At the High Table, the Champions sit next to the judges. She and Daphne have the unfortunate luck of being seated next to Beta Percy Weasley. He was promoted by Bartemius Sr. to fill his role as a judge since the Alpha has recently fallen ill.

The rest of the students sit in small round tables that can sit a dozen, lit with candles. Seeing Dumbledore speak to his plate, Hermione and Daphne order their own French food. On Hermione’s right, Adrian leans in, subtly extracting details out of Dashi about Durmstrang with his charm. However Karkaroff quickly shuts her down.

Hermione looks at the decorations, counting the hundreds of mistletoe, ivy, and garland strands that hang from the rafters above. The Hall also has silver frost everywhere, even a scattering of frost swirling down gently from the ceiling continuously, lining the walls.

“What was that? Back there?” Daphne mutters, cutting her meat methodically. Hermione takes a bite of her salad.

“An . . . Evaluation,”

“Evaluation?” The Beta hisses, glancing at her. Hermione licks her lips.

“You passed, if that’s any consolation,” She drawls, and the lights dim extraordinarily. The students get up and the tables fly to the walls.

“Never mind that—what, was, she, evaluating?” Daphne growls, taking Hermione’s hand as all the Champions stand. The lights around the dance floor cut off, and the floor clears. Annie and Kate are the first to dance, her niece pulling the Omega flush against her front.

Hermione assumes the leading role, placing her hand on Daphne’s waist, and the Beta automatically places her hands on Hermione’s arms. Weird Sisters begin a mournfully slow piece, and Hermione leans in to Daphne’s ear.

“She wanted to know if you were up to her standards,”

Daphne wrinkles her nose, a scowl plastering across her face.

“_Her_ standards? Why the bloody hell would I _care_ about—”

“Because it means that she accepts _us_.” Hermione interrupts, and they begin to waltz. Their fingers interlock, and Hermione places her knee between Daphne’s legs. The hitched gasp is worth breaking the stifling, stiff British style of waltz.

“W-w-what does that mean?” Daphne asks breathlessly. Hermione dips her, and the Beta’s eyes flutter.

“It means,” Hermione begins, twirling Daphne. “That I can properly court you, and perhaps Fleur too if she feels like it.”

Daphne’s jaw drops. They continue to dance in silence, their bodies move fluidly together, gliding across the dance floor. A slight pause in the music is the signal for the rest of the students to join on the dance floor, and Hermione smirks at Daphne.

The Beta smiles, a joyous hint in her lips. At some point, Hermione started purring contently, and Daphne leans her head against Hermione’s neck. Tyche leans in, sniffing Daphne, and the Beta looks up, confused.

“Is that a life snake?” She whispers. Hermione keeps still, letting Tyche continue inspecting.

“She’s my new Familiar,” Hermione murmurs. Tyche leans back, content.

‡_Alssso . . . Sssmellsss . . . Niccce._‡ She hisses approvingly.

* * *

When the music pauses again, Hermione and Daphne take a break to the drink table. As soon as they’re off the dance floor, Hermione’s attacked by her nieces. Kate laughs, and engages Daphne in some small talk.

“You’re so beautiful **Tante!** [Aunt!] I knew the slits was an exilent choice!” Claire squeals, wrapping Hermione in a one-arm hug. Annie huffs.

“A much better choice than—” She starts.

“Let’s _dance!_” Claire exclaims loudly, pulling her date and twin away. Daphne raises an eyebrow at them as they move off to a quiet part of the Ball.

“They share her? That’s . . . Unusal.” She says. Hermione shrugs.

“My nieces follow the rules until necessary, and then bend them to fit their whims.” She chuckles. Most of the Ball are now watching the three Veela dance. A sudden movement to her right flickers, and her eyes snap to Fleur, whose abandoned Roger and prowls forwards with a purpose.

Glancing at the Great Hall entrance, Hermione sees Fleur’s Omega sister, Gabrielle, with a drooling Romnog. Madam Maxine likewise descends upon the unauthorized pair, looming over them. Daphne watches it all unfold with a sharp glint in her eyes, and she sips pumpkin juice from her flute.

And then promptly almost spits it out. Hermione snaps her fingers, vanishing the liquid. Daphne shoots her a grateful look.

“I’m so sorry—please excuse me—Astoria—I have to go!” Daphne rambles, hurrying to Astoria. The young Alpha is half concealed in the shadows of the hall, practically swallowing Omega Hanna Abbott’s tongue. Hermione understands Daphne’s urgence, for Alpha Susan Bones is making a warpath towards the pair.

Hermione shakes her head at the chaos. She’s eternally grateful that her sisters are married and old enough not to make such scandalous situations. Looking around, she spots the two of the Revols. Sauntering over to them, she sits next to Neville and Roseanne, but they’re are too absorbed in their conversation about plants to notice her.

On Neville’s gesticulating hands, Hermione spies his red, lion _Revol Key_ shines. Harold and Beta Tracey pause their exchanging of wizard camera facts to greet her, then promptly return to it. Harold keeps fiddling with his gold, badger _Revol Key_ as he talks. Smiling at their happy vibe, Hermione takes a moment to just observe the Ball.

The Headmasters’ and Headmistress’ have decided to join the festivities, and Dumbledore has Professor McGonagall escort him to the floor. Fitting. Across the hall, Ron leans against the wall, an annoyed looking Alpha Padma Patil next to him.

Hermione wonders what was Molly thinking, sending Ron robes that look like a elderly’s night gown. She eyes the badly severed off frills that were once part of the dress. Harry, on the other hand, is having a whale of a time, hopping around with Luna. Daphne finally comes back, although her body’s tense and her eyebrows are still furrowed. Hermione stands, taking the Beta’s hand.

“Care for a stroll in the garden?”

“Merlin, yes,” Daphne groans exhaustedly.

* * *

As they exit the Ball, Hermione glances over her shoulder to see Astoria being shadowed by Draco. Walking hand-in-hand down the stone path, Hermione guides Daphne to the stone bench. The Beta sighs again, leaning against Hermione.

“Did your sister put up a fuss?” Hermione asks, and Daphne sighs again, snuggling against her side. Hermione wraps an arm around her.

“Sometimes I wish that she wasn’t such a stubborn Alpha,”

“Well, she wouldn’t be Astoria if she didn’t have her characterizing trait.” Hermione drawls, and Daphne smiles. Tyche slithers into her hair, looking up at the stars.

‡_Ssso . . . Pretty._‡ She hisses. Hermione’s _Revol Key_ gets warm, and a beetle flies over her head. Tyche snaps at it, snagging a wing. The beetle spirals off into the bushes, and Hermione swears she hears a tiny, high-pitched scream. Tyche sniffs the air, then scurries back down to to her left ear. The sounds of large footsteps approach.

≠ “—nevair been more insulted in my life! ’Alf-giant? _**Moi?**_ [_Me?_] I ’ave—I ’ave big bones!” ≠ Madame Maxine exclaim angrily, storming down the path, not even seeing them. They look at each other with a confused look, then shrug. The warmth of Hermione’s Key fades as they enjoy the rest of the quiet night.

* * *

Swinging their hands, Hermione and Daphne walk back into the Great Hall. When Astoria sees them, she rushes over, raging about having Draco as a babysitter. Daphne pinches the bridge of her nose, and roughly pulls the young Alpha to a quieter corner. Hermione jerks to a halt when Luna almost barrels into her. Grabbing the Gamma by the shoulders to steady her, Luna looks up with her signature dreamy smile.

“Oh hello my Liege-Lady,” Luna says dreamily.

“Hello Luna—” Hermione starts to to take a step, but sways dangerously, her shoes stuck to the floor. A crowd begins to form around them, and many students giggle. The enchanted mistletoe hangs lowers itself above their heads, and Luna reaches up to bat at it. Hermione sees Daphne staring in shock, and Fleur holding onto Gabrielle, a tight smile gracing her lips.

“It’s Nargle infested mistletoe,” Luna says casually as only she can. Then she cups Hermione’s face and raises on her tip-toes to take Hermione’s lips in a deep kiss.

* * *

Hermione gasps, her mouth opening, and Luna slides her tongue in, a confusing current of insane liquid heat flow shots through her. Just as quickly as the Gamma started it, she pulls away. Hermione stares as she unconsciously swipes her tongue across her bottom lip. _Nevarmōril_ is oddly silent, as if it’s grateful to not have garnered Luna’s attention.

The Gamma merely smiles dreamily up at Hermione, waving away invisible things around her head. The kiss itself only lasted a brief moment, but the intensity made it seem longer.

“Nargles are very self conscious when it comes to arousal,” Luna says, patting Hermione’s arm. She flushes uncharacteristically, and glances around. Annie and Claire’s both sport excited, evil grins, and they tug Kate away, looking up for mistletoe.

Hermione awkwardly pats Luna back, and the Gamma skips away to find Harry. Daphne appears at her arm, and she stays there until Hermione has to undress to get ready for bed. Giving Daphne a short, goodnight kiss, Hermione climbs into bed, wondering why she can still taste Luna on her tongue.

* * *

Heading straight to the Room of Requirement the next day, this time the room is all stone. A single, small, shallow pool resting in the middle of the floor. Hermione needed a place to solve her Egg. Pulling on her bond with Err’sh, he—with Tyche coiled around his leg—arrive with her Golden Egg.

Stroking him, she puts Tyche back around her ear. Setting the Egg in her lap, she traces the swirls and intricate leafy carvings. Running her fingers on the three slits on the top half, she finds the latch. She opens it, the three parts falling part—revealing a shimmery inside with glass bubbles—and an ear-splitting scream burst forth.

Startled, Hermione throws it into the pond, and suddenly the sound turns into a dull gurgling. The water level barely covers the entire Egg, and the water starts to shudder, gurgling louder.

*Hermione Cage-Breaker, I don’t like this!* Err’sh screeches.

‡_Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother] . . . I’m . . . Ssscared!_‡ Tyche hisses weakly. Just at the gurgling reaches an uncomfortably high pitch, it stops. All three watch the pool, wary.

_SPLOOSH!_

Ghost-like magical creatures burst forth from the pool, Hermione yelping in shock. Hundreds of them flow out, Hermione jerking away instinctually. Glancing at the pool—no, _Pensieve_—her mouth drops watching the creatures continue to swim through the room.

One swims over her, and she recognizes the creatures as Merpeople. A warbling song starts to spread out through the room, and Hermione strains to listen. Gradually, the song grows louder, eerie echoing female voices mesh in a alluring symphony.

_≠ “Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you’re searching, ponder this:_

_We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you’ll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour—the prospect’s black,_

_Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.” ≠_

The memory fades, and the Egg shuts under the water.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Draco tosses Hermione the _Daily Prophet_. It’s open to Rita Skeeter’s new article; ≠ _Dumbledore’s Giant Mistake_. ≠ Her eyebrow raises as she scans the contents. Most of it is about how the giants helped the Death Eaters in their initial days of mayhem, resulting in an almost genocide for the giants.

“Interesting, but obvious.” She says, handing it back to him. As they walk out of the Great Hall, Hermione sees Harry storming towards Draco, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands.

“What the bloody hell do ≠ you mean ‘we all hate Hagrid’ ≠ Draco?!” He snarls, eyes ablaze, shaking the Daily Prophet. A few of the Gryffindor boys back him up. Neville enters with Ginny and her new Queen of Gryffindor, Beta Parvati Patil. The trio make a beeline to Harry, and Hermione hears Ginny exasperatedly ordering Harry to stand down.

As Hermione walks down to her Care of Magical Creatures class, she wants to know how Skeeter knew, and how she got onto campus unnoticed.

— . —

_Calamaitatis_ = Disillusion Charm (Latin: Disillusion)


	8. The Second Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s days before the Second Test is hectic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> Just to let y'all know in advance, like, very advance, I'm gonna be in Hawaii for Christmas!  
(2ish weeks in Hawaii whoop whoop!)

Professionally speaking—Professor Alpha Grubbly-Plank is _leagues_ better than Hagrid. For one, she actually has a graduate degree above a Third year’s. However in the moral department, Hagrid has her beat in spades. When the girls gets to pet Unicorns, an international icon—the Great Elemental of White Magic—the gentle beast is leashed with a tight rope.

Professor Grubbly-Plank turns away from the Unicorn, drawing the rest of the class with her. Hermione stays, stroking him softly. The golden pelt under the rope is red and chaffed, stiff with old sweat. He whines pitifully, nudging at her hopefully. Tyche hisses sympathetically, and even _Nevarmōril_ hums pitifully.

Hermione morphs her nails into claws, slices through the rope, and banishes it. Morphing her nails back, she traces her hands along the marks. The Unicorn twitches as she sends her Thrall through his skin. It rolls over the marks, cleaning and healing the wounds until the evidence is gone.

The Unicorn nickers gratefully, and bumping her shoulder with his muzzle. She strokes his forehead, calming in his presence. He nuzzles her stomach, nudging her robes up. Hermione gets the hint, and parts her robes, lifting her shift. Lowering his head, he touches his pure white horn against her midriff. Magic hums around them, and his horn shimmers as he traces a spiral pattern, magic cycling through her.

Then, in a blink, he’s racing off into the Dark Forest. Looking down, Hermione feels the comforting warmth of the golden pattern. Seven lines circle around her naval like a whirlpool. The seventh line at the top of the whirlpool bends at a ninety-degree angle to the bottom of her solar plex.

Pulling down her robes, Hermione returns to class, the Unicorn’s blessing thrumming gently.

* * *

As the week goes on, and Hagrid is still missing. The topic has grown so much that even Beta Tracey keeps speculating about as she, Hermione, and Astoria, make their way to Hogsmeade. Entering the Three Broomsticks, they find a booth.

“Hey, what’s Bagman doing with Goblins?” Astoria points, and they look over to see the Beta man talking with a group of tense Goblins. Tyche leans forwards, having never seen Goblins before. Bagman looks around wildly, and when he spots Hermione, he hurries over.

“Ladies! May I borrow Hermione for a bit?” ≠ He gasps, and Daphne raises an eyebrow, and Beta Tracey and Astoria sneer at him.

“You may address her as ‘Miss Mendonica’, or even better, as ‘Lady Mendonica’.” Daphne says icily, her brilliant grass-green eyes narrowing at Bagman.

“Ah—yes—slip of the tongue I assure you—Her—Miss Mendonica?” He stutters, wringing his hands. Behind him, the Goblins stare flintily.

“I suppose I have time,” Hermione drawls. Giving Daphne’s lips a quick kiss, she slides out of the booth and leads Bagman to the far side of the bar.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” She asks, leaning against the bar. He looks a bit abashed.

“I just wanted you to know . . . If you ever need . . . Assistance on the Tests . . . Don’t hesitate to ask . . . Alright?”

Hermione stares down at him, her face blank.

“Before we talk further, why do you have a Goblin escort?” She asks, and he looks away.

“Ah, they’re here for Barty, poor fellow, sick he is.” Bagman lies terribly. She hums, then a patch of red in the corner of her eye catches her attention. The Weasley twins enter the Three Broomsticks, narrowing their sights on Bagman. Identical, dark smiles grace their faces, and they stalk forwards.

The Beta flinches, and flees, the Weasley twins racing after him. The Goblins leap to their feet, all rushing out to follow Bagman. Hermione stops one, and he clamps down on his snarl when he recognizes her.

/Why do you hunt that Magical?/ She asks in Rinzersal. His eyes widen, then harden.

/Broken Child, we want our gold that the thief took from us!/ He growls, and Hermione smirks, and steps to the side, letting the Goblin rejoin his companions. Rolling her shoulders, Hermione walks back to her table.

“What did he want?” Astoria asks annoyed.

‡_You . . . Ssspeak . . . Goblin?_‡ Tyche hisses.

“He looked desperate.” Beta Tracey snickers.

“Bagman’s having financial issues.” Hermione drawls.

* * *

The days pass quickly, as Hermione slowly plans out a way to stay underwater. She will of course be using her Metamorphmagus ability, but she will need a viable cover story. She knows Fleur will be using the _Bubble-Head Charm_. The Veela Alpha’s time had been preoccupied after the Yule Ball, and Hermione hardly ever sees her now. Her thoughts turn to Fleur in water, and she has to check if she’s drooling.

Holding Neville’s _Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties_ by Beta Hadrian Whittle, Hermione’s waiting outside the Library doors—now warded against her—for Madam Pince. She knows the strict Alpha woman can’t ward out a student from the Library and its knowledge without a proper infraction. And according to _Hogwarts, a History_, snogging isn’t under any disciplinary rules for the Library.

She taps her foot, then taps on the doors. The wards warm warningly at each tap, but they get Madam Pince‘s attention. The Alpha woman wrenches open her doors, scowling heavily.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has spoken with me . . .” Madam Pince growls, her hands clenching on the door handles. Hermione stays silent, keeping her face void of any emotion.

“I revoke my banishment—but if I see such vile behavior I’ll curse you so you’ll never even _think_ of entering my domain!” Madam Pince hisses, and pivots on her heel, stalking back to her desk. Crisis averted, Hermione hurries to her table, and finds that her table has been taken over by the rest of the Champions.

Sighing, Hermione slides in the empty chair next to Fleur, and the Alpha Veela leans against her side, still engrossed in her book. On Fleur’s left, Dashi and Kaftarn sit close together, reading in total silence with occasionally glances up at the rest of them. On Kaftarn’s left, Angelina has wedged Harry between herself and Cedric, and both boys are quietly discussing Quidditch techniques.

Victor sits next to Claire, his nose deep in a book. Kate of course sits between Claire and Annie, and shares a brief smile with Hermione. Annie nudges Hermione, an eyebrow raised at the odd gathering of Champions.

»I bet the Durmstrangs are only here to get a leg up on all of us,« The Veela Alpha mutters, her eyes flicking over the three grey-clad Champions.

»As long as they—or anyone here—don’t cause a fuss, they can stay.« Hermione drawls back, and her niece nods. She looks down at Fleur, and snakes an arm around the Veela Alpha’s waist.

»I presume Madam Maxine has already informed you of what the next Test entails?« She whispers in a private link. Fleur shivers, nods, and turns a page in her book.

»Yes, although I figured it out before she did. The judges are going to take something precious from each of us—a loved one no doubt,« Her eyes flick up to Hermione, and she holds the Veela Alpha tighter.

»Well, as much as I would love to see you rescue me from the Black Lake, I’m still a Champion too,«

»Yes. I know. The only other option is—« Fleur cuts herself off when The high pitched sound of giggles trickle from behind a bookshelf. Victor shuts his book with a heavy sigh.

“Whose hanging on you now mate?” Cedric asks, looking towards the source of the giggles. Victor rubs his eyes, and Hermione catches Kaftarn looking pityingly at him for a brief second. A soft murmur of conversation bubbles up from the table about Victor’s plight, but Hermione’s eyes fall on the cover of his book.

_A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration._

A smirk pulls at her lips, and she knows what she shall do.

* * *

All nine Champions stand on the cold pier in the Black Lake dressed in I.W.O.R. swim attire; a loose tank top and swim trunks; for the morning of the Second Test. Each tank is emblazoned with the Champions’ school crest and color, and in Hogwarts case, it’s their House color.

In Hermione’s peripheral vision, she sees the other Veela picking at her swim trunks, disgruntled. Fleur cuts a dashing figure in Hermione’s opinion. Harry stands close to Hermione and Angelina, shivering as he shifts side to side.

The rest of the schools are up in the stands; multiple floating, giant Two-Way mirrors show the different parts of the Black Lake, switching every so often. Err’sh is perched on a high post above the awning covering the crowd, Tyche nestled against his neck. Bagman calls everyone to order, and starts the count down to begin, the crowd chanting with him.

Hermione backs up, drawing curious looks. Unsheathing her wand, she waves it around her head, pretending to cast.

“THREE!”

“TWO!”

“ONE!”

“_GO!_”

Hermione slashes her wand, sheathing it in the same motion. Sprinting off the dock, she morphs into huge Kelpie. Screams and yells sound for a second, and then she’s underwater. She barely glimpses Harry and Angelina—in their Gillyweed transformed bodies—before she’s barreling past them.

Only after she’s put some distance between herself and the pier, does she twist in the water to inspect her new form. It’s horse-like in shape, kelp strands making up her entire body with a long, winding serpentine tail.

Hermione rears, charging deeper. Any sea creature that crosses her path darts out of her way. She cuts through the water effortlessly, her kelp strands detecting the slightest change in current and temperature the water. Sniffing the water, she feels the vibrations of movement. Whirling around, Hermione swims after it.

She soon overcomes Victor, his head half-transfigured into a shark’s. A failed human transfiguration then. Their unsaid truce is nonexistent during the Tests. Circling around him, Victor aims his wand at her. She coils her body tightly, snapping out her powerful tail. Victor goes sailing off into the waters, his form flailing as he struggles to orient himself.

Snorting, Hermione continues to swim into the dark. Slowly, she begins to feel many vibrations, and see an errie-green glow. Tiny fish that dart out of her way, as she begins to spot an occasional Merperson, who turn tail when they spot her. Swimming cautiously towards the underwater village, Hermione sees it’s made of all coral grown from the ground.

The Merfolk, seeing her, swim forwards, spears pointing. Hermione half-morphs back, keeping her gills, shows her wand. The Merfolk guards speak to each other, before they warily let her pass. Swimming high over the buildings, she arrives in the middle of the village.

And there, in the middle of the square, chained to keep from floating away, is a sleeping Daphne.

* * *

Sensing vibrations, Hermione dodges to the side, and Fleur darts past her. Why is she so frantic to save Daphne? She _knows_ she saw Daphne before she dove in. Fleur nearly reaches Daphne, but Hermione surges forwards, swatting the Veela Alpha away with her tail.

Fleur tumbles in the water, and rightens herself, wand aimed at Hermione. Her eyes are wide with panic, desperate to save whoever she sees. Blocking Fleur’s view, Hermione morphs a little more of her Kelpie form away, and her ability to breath water starts to weaken dramatically.

She tries to push out calming pheromones, but they clog underwater, making the water around her cloudy and thick. Fleur blinks in disblief the sight, and Hermione swims forwards, cupping Fleur’s cheeks.

»It’s a Mirrorman!« She garbles.

* * *

Fleur takes a moment to sort out her words, then she closes her eyes, breathing deeply. When she opens them, she nods. Hermione smiles, and morphs fully back, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen rich water. Fleur glances down at the Mirrorman, and looks away.

Mirrormen are creatures who can shape shift like Boggarts, but instead of feeding on your greatest _fear_, they feed on your greatest _desire_. A strike of jealousy burns through Hermione, and she wonders darkly about who Fleur saw. They swim over the Mirrorman, Fleur wrapping one of Hermione’s kelp strands around her hand.

A taunt slice of vibrations is the only warning Hermione feels before a flash of spellfire attacks the Mervillage. A Merchild screams, and she’s soaring through the water, snatching the Merchild before a coral building lands on her. The Merchild is still screaming even as Hermione gently lets go of her, bumping her towards the safety of the fleeing Merfolk.

Fleur yells, and suddenly pain burrows deep into her side. Hermione screams, rearing as three Mermen push their spears in deeper into her flank. Fleur roars, blasting the Merfolk with a volley of spells as Hermione swims away, trailing blood in her wake. Behind them, all three Durmstrang students start blasting their way to get to the Mirrorman.

Hermione thinks she swims past a bewildered Annie and Kate, but with every tail stroke she wedges the spears in deeper. Gritting her teeth, Hermione slows, and Fleur swims down to her side. Brushing part the kelp strands, the Veela Alpha presses one hand on her flank, and yanks. Hermione squeals when the spear becomes unembedded.

»Sorry,« Fleur winces, pulling out the two other spears. Letting two drift, Fleur keeps one. Hissing, Hermione sends her magic through her body, but the wounds refuse to heal quickly.

»They’re laced with poison,« Hermione growls, and prowls on, eager for the Test to be over. And maybe have time to return the favor to the Mermen who tried to kill her. Yelping at the unexpected restart, Fleur barely catches onto Hermione’s kelp strands.

“Oh hey,” Hermione looks up, teeth bared, and Fleur turns the spear towards the voice. Moaning Myrtle floats there, hands on her hips.

“You might want to swim that way, your date is over there. Oh and watch out for the Durmstrangs, they’re mean.”

* * *

Swimming in the direction where Myrtle pointed, Fleur tries to heal Hermione, but her magic only ends up closing the skin over the wounds. Oddly enough, she can’t feel _Nevarmōril_, like it’s gone to sleep. Gradually, they start to hear the Merfolk’s song, and Hermione swims faster.

Diving deeper into a ditch, seven figures are tied down with seaweed, while two strands floating loosely.

_Daphne_.

She’s sleeping, deeply, tied with seaweed. Three Merfolk swim around them. Next to her, is Gabrielle, Cassius, Claire, Katie, Lavender, and George. Hermione half-morphs back, swimming towards Daphne. The Merfolk part, watching her shred at Daphne’s seaweeds with her teeth. One of them narrows his eyes, staring at her covered wounds.

Morphing fully again to her Kelpie form, Hermione cradles Daphne’s body gently in her jaws. Turning, she swims by Fleur, who grabs a kelp strand, and a Merman swipes his spear at her side. She dodges, but a trickle of blood seeps into the water, and the Mermen roar. Hermione slams her powerful tail at the Mermen, and zooms out of the ditch.

Fleur yelps, barely hanging on as she holds Gabrielle close to her. Hermione can hear the Mermen shrieking in the distance, and she doesn’t need to know Mermish to understand their outrage. The waters start to dramatically lighten, the surface getting clearer and clearer—sun!

Hermione arches through the air, a great roar greeting her arrival. Daphne and Gabrielle wake as soon as air hits their faces, and they scream in surprise. Fleur loses her grip on Hermione, and she and her fly through the air briefly. In the next moment, all four of them crash back into the water.

Hermione morphs back, shaking her hair as the lingering sensations of being in a Kelpie form dissipate. Daphne lurches towards her, flinging her arms around Hermione’s neck. The move jerks her body, and she winces as her side cramps with pain. _Nevarmōril_ opens its eyes, and roars at the damage done to her body.

It rushes down into her legs, moving them so Hermione and Daphne start swimming towards the dock. It races along her ribcage, sending jolts of harsh, stinging magic through her torso. Hands help Daphne up first onto the pier, and then Hermione. Grunting, she collapses, panting as _Nevarmōril_ breaks the thin veil of skin over her wounds, and blood pours out.

* * *

Hermione wakes to Madam Pomfrey angrily muttering about Merfolk poison under the audience stands. She’s on a stretcher and wrapped in a thick blanket. Daphne sits right by her side, her hands gripping Hermione’s hard. Fleur and Gabrielle are on her other side, both likewise clutching thick towels to their bodies. Err’sh is fluffed up around her head, and Tyche is curled around her left ear.

_Nevarmōril_ purrs in satisfaction, jumping from her ribcage to her hips, showing her that her wounds are no more. Madam Pomfrey sighs, deems Hermione healthy once more, and excuses herself to go look after the other Champions. The girls all sigh in relief.

“**Oh thank Merlin, don’t you dare scare me like that again!**” Daphne whispers in French, leaning over Hermione to brush her wet hair out of her face.

“**Sorry my Tigress,**” She yawns. Closer now, Hermione spots a beetle tangled in Daphne’s hair, and she pries it out. Daphne blushes at the simple act as the beetle flies away. Fleur lays a hand on Hermione’s other arm.

»Thank you, Alfā,« The Veela Alpha murmurs, tugging Gabrielle close as her thumb rubs against Hermione’s skin. Daphne glances up at the motion, and lifts Hermione’s hand to thread their fingers together. Fleur smirks at Daphne, and they stare at each other, a war stirring in their eyes.

Hermione sits up, ready to dispel the tension, but suddenly both Daphne and Fleur smirk at each other. Err’sh flaps to her lap, looking at the two girls. Warily on guard for some kind of blacklash, Hermione isn’t prepared for when Daphne and Fleur both lean in and kiss her face.

She blinks, her jaw going slack. Quick as an adder, she plants a kiss on Hermione’s lips. Fleur retaliates by dragging her teeth down Hermione’s jaw, and nips sharply at her throat. Hermione keens, enjoying the skirmish waged on her body. _Nevarmōril_ arches into the touches, sending bliss shaking through Hermione’s body.

A roar from the crowd brings all of them back to focus. Gabrielle’s in shock, staring at them in awe. Dumbledore appears, beckoning Hermione to him. Fleur and Daphne reluctantly let her out of their embrace. Confused and a little aroused, she picks up Err’sh and follows Dumbledore along the pier.

On their way, they pass Annie, Kate, Claire and Katie. All four Veela look distinctly annoyed, and Hermione pauses. There’s a Veela Beta trying to sidle against Kate’s side. Kate hisses softly, Katie bares her teeth,a hand clamped on the Beta’s arm, and Hermione’s nieces blatantly growl.

»Stay away from my cousin, _Caterwatt_.« Katie growls, but the Veela Beta flicks her hair, ignoring Katie

»Chill Duceau, I simply wanted to introduce myself,« She drawls, and Annie snarls.

»Well, let me be the last to say, no one wants anything to do with you, _ex_.«

Annie’s ex-girlfriend recoils at the tone, letting go of Kate. Annie wraps an arm around Kate’s shoulders, pulling the shivering Omega against her. Claire steps forwards, her Beta pheromones swirling around her. Katie’s hold on Annie’s ex tightens.

»If you touch her again Lukia, it won’t be just me you’ll have to go through, it’ll be _all_ of us.« Claire hisses, nodding towards Annie, Katie, and then Hermione. Lukia glances up at Hermione, flinching when she sees her. Fear dances in the Veela Beta’s eyes when she beholds Hermione, and _Nevarmōril_ stirs warmly at the feeling.

* * *

≠ “Oh to be young and feel love’s keen sting,” ≠ Dumbledore says cheerfully, watching the display as well.

“Come, we mustn’t keep her waiting,” He says, herding Hermione away.

“Her, Professor?” She asks, but he doesn’t answer. He leads to the very edge of the dock, and he uses his body to shield her from any stray eyes. Looking down, Hermione sees a Merwoman with a headpiece swimming. Hermione kneels down slowly, still wary of any interaction with any Merfolk.

The Merwoman rises breaks the surface of the water, staring up at Hermione. Tyche hisses in surprise, while Err’sh cocks his head. Green tattoos swirling over the Merwoman’s sandy skin. The Merwoman looks her over, her eyes looking down to where Hermione was stabbed, then back up to her face.

Err’sh hops onto to the pier, leaning closer to the Merwoman. She reaches out a webbed hand and take Hermione’s right one.

— . —

_Bulla Capitis_ = Bubble-Head Charm (Latin: Bubble Head)


	9. Bones Of Our Forebears:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skeeter whips up some more nasty stuff, Hermione meets Black again, and she makes a choice.

~_I am indebted to you, Deep Cutting Current Kelpie, for sssaving the life of my Merling._~ The Merwoman says, her voice enchanting. The Merwoman drags a clawed nail deep across Hermione’s palm, and blood seeps up. She cuts another line, and then makes the same cuts in her own right palm. They have matching wounds; a ragged circle with a half line in it.

The Merwoman places their palms together, and their blood mixes.

~_Who are you?_~ Hermione whispers. The Merwoman pulls her hand back, and two drops of blood from each of their palms spiral up, turning gold. Merging together, it flashes white. A phial like a cross and as big as her thumb appears, the blood in the middle. Hermione looks down at her palm as her wound heals. It’s now just a bit paler than the rest of her skin.

They’ve created a Blood Pact.

~_I am Merccchief Ariel._~ The Merwoman says and then she’s gone.

* * *

Standing with the other Champions recieving their scores, Hermione holds her Blood Pact tight. She’s awarded forty-nine points, Cedric and Harry both get forty-seven points, leaving Angelina to be disqualified with forty-five points. Although she takes her lose in good grace, hugging Harry proudly. Kaftarn and Annie are likewise disqualified.

Overall, Durmstrang is third with two-hundred-seventy points, Beauxbatons second with two-hundred-seventy-two points, and Hogwarts holding first place with two-hundred-seventy-seven points. The cheers erupt, and Hermione knows there’s going to be a large party.

* * *

Four days after the Test, she’s on her way to her Potions class wearing the Blood Pact as a right earring. With Luna’s assistance, she charms it, making it look like an ordinary dangly, cross earring. Suddenly, Beta Tracey barrels into Daphne, shoving a copy of _Witch Weekly_ into Hermione’s hands.

“Keep that away from Daph.” She says breathlessly. It’s folded open to a page. Sitting down at her table, she reads it while Daphne is acquiring potion ingredients. Creasing out the folds, a scowl grows on her face as she reads _Hermione Mendonica, Seduction or Sabotage?_

A young woman none the likes of anyone has seen—but perhaps one suffering from the effects of something more sinister. As the third daughter in the Mendonica Royal bloodline, raised by only females, Hermione Eto Mendonica has always been suspected to lean more towards the fairer sex. Without a male father figure in her life, the Second Heiress Mendonica hasn’t had the talk of how deceitful some people can be.

While in Hogwarts, Hermione Mendonica has flourished, making friends with all Hogwarts Houses despite being a Slytherin, ignoring the blatant rivalries in favor of simply making new connections. For the Yule Ball, she bravely put her heart on the line and took—Daphne Greengrass? Yes, you heard me correctly.

Instead of her first and Muggleborn best friend, Harold Hawking, the Heiress of House Greengrass was seen waltzing with Second Heiress Mendonica. Many students thought Mr. Hawking would be seen dancing with Second Heiress Mendonica, but to no avail. Now enter Fleur Delacour, fellow Frenchwoman and Heiress of House Delacour, the leaders of the Magical French Parliament and House Mendonica’s most powerful political rival.

The world should rue the day that these two would be pitted against each other in a legitimate contest, yet something else happens. Second Heiress Mendonica switches from a stiff, cold, demeanor with Fleur Delacour to even assisting her in the Second Test! After the terrifying ordeal where Second Heiress Mendonica was poisoned by the Merfolk (see page 4) from rescuing Heiress Greengrass, she was suddenly seduced by both Heiress Delacour and Heiress Greengrass!

What happened between these three?!

I suspect something terrible, and an anonymous interviewee says ‘Delacour came into the Library one day, and just sat down at Mendonica’s table, though don’t know if she did anything, cause three other Champions were there—but saw her looking up how to make a Love Potion!’

There you have it, what is truly going on during the European Slate of the I.W.O.R.? ‘Love Potions could do it, but she’d have to really sneaky to get past that Familiar of Mendonica’s.’ A concerned boy says. ≠ Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims.

In the meantime, Hermione Eto Mendonica’s well-wishers must hope, ≠ that she recover quickly, and realize to place her heart in a worthier woman. I just hope that Harold Hawking ready himself to fight for his best friend to defend her heart, or the Heiresses will surely win — Rita Skeeter.

* * *

“Reading papers in my class?” Professor Snape hisses, snatching the Witch Weekly copy from Parvati. The Beta stammers, looking over at Hermione, and Professor Snape narrows his eyes.

“Trying to blame another student won’t help your cause,” Professor Snape draws himself higher. The other Slytherins snicker.

“Let’s see what you’re so enamored about,” He sneers, scanning the article, his expression growing darker with each passing second. Glaring at Parvati, he practically snarls at her.

“Sixty points from Gryffindor.” He turns on his heel, stalking back to the front of the class.

* * *

Hermione isn’t amused when Annie and Claire find the whole thing hilarious. At least Kate has the grace to be disgusted with it. Astoria had ripped a copy from Pansy’s hands and shredded it the next morning, stating loudly that whomever Hermione picks to share her love is good enough for her.

Hermione was touched by the staunched loyalty, and pulled Astoria into her lap to shower her with affection; i.e., head rubs. It also goes without saying, that both Fleur and Daphne are furious about the article, and it was a surreal sight to see them bond over their shared hatred of one Beta Rita Skeeter.

As Hermione and the Revols walk to Hogsmeade, they often have to wave off other students offering their support to Hermione. All the Slytherins and most of Ravenclaw favor Daphne, a surprising amount of the other Houses favor Harold, and the rest favor Fleur.

“Oh this is getting ridiculous! The next person who talks about it will get a hex up the arse!” Harold cries, raising his wand. No one approaches them after the outburst from the usually quiet Hufflepuff.

“That worked,” Neville says in relief, then yelps as he’s suddenly slammed into the ground. Harry and Ron groan, the former trying to find his glasses. Luna crouches, handing them to him.

“Oh—thank you Luna—sorry Neville,” Harry says, helping the Omega up.

“Sorry,” Ron echoes, brushing himself off.

“Where are you two going to in such a hurry?” Hermione asks, eyeing their bulging pockets and bag with the scents of food. Harry and Ron freeze like deer in headlights.

“Er . . .” Ron trails off.

“You shouldn’t have come back.” Luna says coldly, pointing an accusing finger at a big black dog with a newspaper in it’s mouth. Harold and Neville both jump, drawing their wands and aiming it at Black. Hermione feels _Nevarmōril_ churn, trying to coax her residual anger back up, but she pushes it down.

Harry and Ron aim their wands warily at them, stepping in front of Black. He shifts back, and he actually looks like a well functioning being with his black hair cut to short waves. He narrows his eyes at Hermione, and she glares. Both Black and Pettigrew’s trials have been postponed since the fiasco of the QWC, so Black is still legally a fugitive.

“Harry, Ron, lower your wands,” Black growls, sounding pained. Hermione smirks, strumming the _Life-Debt_ around them. The two boys obey him, looking pensive. Tyche flicks her tongue, tasting Black’s scent, and gags.

“My Liege-Lady, there are things the Bond-Killer can tell us,” Luna says dreamily. Black twitches at the name. Hermione likes it.

“Come on Uncle Padfoot, you have to hide,” Harry says, turning his focus onto the older Alpha. Black begrudgingly allows his godson to push him out of Hogsmeade. Hermione signals for Harold and Neville to stow their wands, and they follow after Black carefully. They come to a small clearing where Black, Harry, and Ron have already set up a little campfire.

Black is gorging on food provided from the Hogwarts kitchens.

“Not to disrespect Lily’s cooking—but I haven’t had chicken in forever ever since bloody _Snivellus_ convinced her to go back to being vegetarian this week.” Black says between bites. Hermione wrinkles her nose at the disrespect to her House Head. The Revols sit on the opposite side of the fire, keeping silent as Black and Harry catch up on the latest news.

When the conversation turns to the I.W.O.R., Black sneers when he learns who the judges are.

“How do you know Mr. Crouch Sr. so personally?” Hermione interrupts Black, and he turns to her, his black eyes blazing.

“He was the one who sentenced me to Azkaban without a trail at all.” He snarls, and Hermione smirks up at this interesting news, seeing his eyes narrow. Luna lays a hand on her back, and she straights, _Nevarmōril_ turning ice cold at her touch. It understands—therefore Hermione understands—that Luna’s warning it to behave.

“But I thought only the Head of the DMLE could send you off to trail!” Ron says, and Black shrugs.

“My _dear_ cousin was conveniently out of the country that day, so Crouch was the second next highest rank, even though Riddle demoted him for what his son did.” Black snorts.

“What happened to his son?” Neville asks, and Black glances at him guardedly.

“Oh I read about that! Crouch Jr. was found messing with Death Eaters, and his dad sent him off to Azkaban,” Harold says, and Black nods.

“And he did it against Bellatrix’s authority, so she complained to Riddle, and Crouch got bumped down” Black huffs.

“Wasn’t there no real proof that Crouch Jr. was really with Death Eaters?” Harold presses, but Black waves him off.

“Anything that could tarnish Crouch’s golden reputation had to go. His son didn’t even last seven months, the guards said he died there.” Black says somberly, and there’s quiet.

“What about Crouch Jr.’s mother?” Harry asks. Black shrugs indifferently.

“She died right after she visited Crouch Jr. once. She’d been real sick already, so probably the added effects of the Dementors, seeing her son die, just made her . . . Let go.” There’s a brief silence, and Hermione glares at Black, seeing his lack of remorse. Granted, she doesn’t have that much remorse in herself to muster up, but that doesn’t mean she can’t pretend for the sake of others.

“Either way, the Death Eaters are either dead, in Azkaban, or out in hiding,” Black states, taking another bite of his food.

“The flies are solitary creatures, and yet when they descend upon a corpse there is no stopping them.” Luna says dreamily, and Ron puts down his food, looking green.

“That’s fucking morbid.” Black states flatly, and Hermione growls in warning. Luna just shrugs, checking her nails and not acknowledging Black. Harold sits back a little, biting his lip as he thinks. It’s Neville who speaks.

“The analogy is actually pretty spot on; the I.W.O.R. is gearing up for the Last Test; the Death Eaters are the flies, and the corpse is the thrill of the final days of the I.W.O.R.. With such a major event like that, it makes sense to gather one’s strength before attacking.” Neville rattles out the facts, and then blushes when he notices they’re all staring at him.

“Spoken like a real Auror.” Hermione grins, and Neville preens at the praise.

* * *

With the Easter Holidays quickly approaching, Hermione throws herself into her work. At least now that Hagrid’s back, their homework in that class has gone down. He even let them play with Nifflers on his first day back. Every morning, Fleur gets dive-bombed by hate mail and Howlers. The Veela merely bursts them into flames.

After a rather large batch of letters, Hermione makes use of the distraction to slip out of the Great Hall to feed Tyche. She’s started Tyche on a new diet befitting her bigger growth. The Horned Serpent’s big enough to barely wrap all the way around her neck.

Summoning a rat, she lets it run across the floor, having Tyche hunt after it. As Tyche chases the rodent all over the dorm, Hermione thinks about how Skeeter could of gotten onto campus. Tyche snatches up the rat, and it squeaks in pain. Hermione blinks, realizing the simple answer.

Skeeter’s an unregistered Animagus, but of what, that was the question. Tyche throws the rat up in the air, and swallows it whole. Hermione applauds her. Tyche whirls around, beaming proudly.

‡_Ghigh . . . Yha . . .Ssseeh . . . Ghahft?!_‡ Tyche hisses. Hermione tsks, holding her hand out for Tyche. The Horned Serpent slithers eagerly towards her.

‡_What have I told you about talking with you mouth full?_‡ Hermione hisses. Tyche pushes the rat further down her throat.

‡_That . . . It . . . Isss . . . Not . . . Polite . . . Or . . . A . . . Good . . . Impresssion._‡ Tyche hisses, and Hermione nods, stroking between her horns. They both turn their heads towards the door when they smell someone approaching. Tyche leaps forwards, curling around Hermione’s neck and up into her hair. Astoria appears, smiling.

“There you are! Bagman wants you out in the courtyard for something for the Third Test,” She says, Hermione nodding. Walking with her, she sees Astoria keep glancing at her in her pereferal vision.

“What is it?” Astoria blushes, looking down.

“Are you going to marry Daphne,” Hermione lurches in her step, Tyche hissing at the sudden movement.

“I don’t know.”

Astoria’s jaw drops.

“You don’t _know?_ But you’d be such a good cou—”

“Ah Miss Medonica! You’re here—run along miss,” Bagman smiles at Astoria, who shuts her mouth, opting between glaring at Bagman and glancing at Hermione as she leaves.

“Behold, the Third Test!” Bagman throws his hand out to the vast open field.

* * *

Fleur, Kate, Victor, Dashi, Cedric, Harry, and Hermione all peer out into at nothing, then look back at Bagman. He grins at them.

“Can’t you see it? It’s the foundation of a maze!” They all look out to the empty field. Shrugging, Bagman continues on.

“There will be obstacles! Spells to get through, so don’t think it’s this easy!” Raising an eyebrow, Hermione sends probe of Thrall over the field, hissing softly when her magic is suddenly yanked forwards. Reeling it in quickly, Kate glances at her.

“There are three Cups modeled after the Goblet inside the middle of the maze: the Cup of Black for Hogwarts, the Cup of Blue for Beauxbatons, and the Cup of Slate for Durmstrang!”

An cold chill pulls at their cloaks.

“Oooh, burr, let’s go back to the castle.” Bagman hurries in, the rest following.

“I’m going to find Luna, see you Cedric,” Harry says, dashing off to Hogwarts. The rest take their time leaving, and Victor sidles right up to Hermione.

“Herm-own-ninny, can we talk?” He whispers. She nods, seeing the suspicious looks from the others, especially Fleur and Kate. They walk towards near the Dark Forest, and Hermione flex’s her hands, ready for anything.

“Is vere anyving going on between Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood?” The question confuses her. Hermione was expecting him to ask about . . . Well, not that.

“They’re friends.” Hermione replies. He glowers down at her, but she isn’t fazed. She doesn’t want him anywhere near Luna, the Gamma is _hers_.

“Alright, vank you for telling me,” He says awkwardly, folding his arms. His shifting allows Hermione to spot a shape behind him. Slowly, she leans to the side, and he turns, startling when a shabby wizard stumbles towards them. He looks like he’s been living in the Dark Forest his whole life.

“Mr. Crouch?” Victor gasps. The Alpha man’s eyes are wide, his skin pale, and he’s talking to himself. Hermione tilts her head, and raises her hand. Beta Tracey told her that Percy said Bartemius Sr. was out of office for some reason.

“He’s not stable,” She whispers.

“Dumbledore!” Bartemius Sr. cries, lunging at Hermione. She stuns him, and Victor looks at her impressed.

“He tried to attack you!” Krum nudges the unconscious Alpha with his boot.

“Let’s take him back—” She starts to say, but Victor goes flying from a stunner, and Hermione summons a shield just in time. She looks up at Professor Moody, snarling as he rams a curse into her shield. Hermione keeps her ground, as he advances at her, more and more curses shooting out of his wand.

She narrows her eyes, and powers up a stunner. Professor Moody whips his wand back over his head, bright white-blue lightning crackling from it. She lashes at him, and he flies against a tree, unconscious, his wand still sparking with the energy a few meters away from him.

Stalking up to him, she holds him down with her Thrall. Snapping her fingers, she levitates his body and wand further into the Forest. Dumping him, Hermione aims her hand at Moody, and _Nevarmōril_ trembles in anticipation. It unfurls along her clavicles, and she can feel it carving through her flesh.

“_Imperio_.” She whispers. A rush of warmth hotter than the feeling she felt when the first time floods her system. _Nevarmōril_ howls with joy, and she crashes to one knee as its bones break through her skin, lining her back with rows of spikes. The end of _Nevarmōril_ protrudes from her lower back, waving lazily as it drips with her blood.

Her is blood hollering, her Thrall and magic curling and twitching in pleasure. _Nevarmōril_ pumps out hot bliss through her, and she moans. Taking deep breaths to center herself, she looks up at her prey.

_Wake up, don’t speak, don’t move._ She orders, and Moody obeys.

She can feel him fighting against her, his mind surprisingly resilient against the Unforgivable’s affects. She presses harder, adding a magical lock on his mind, and it subdues him. She crouches slowly, looking him over. She weaves her magic and Thrall, creating an illusion of the empty forest over them.

“You attacked us. Why?” She asks, and Moody answers.

“You were too close to my target. The boy is easy, you are dangerous.”

“Who are you really?” He twitches.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” The supposed-dead-Bartemius says.

“So your target is your father. Tell me why.”

“We needed my father alive, but under control.”

“And who’s we?” Hermione breathes, an insane smile growing on her face. She feels like power, and the imposter knows it. She stares down at him with a crooked, toothy smile. It makes some sense now; her vision from the Skull Hookah. _Nevarmōril_ rewards her with another wave of bliss. She flutters her eyes, and her _Nevarmōril_-tail wags.

“How did you get out of Azkaban?” She gasps.

“My mother. She persuaded my father to use a _Polyjuice Potion_ on her and trade places with me. She was already dying, and when Black escaped, he tried to free my mother. She was killed, while I, was kept under my father’s _Imperius_ and his—”

“Invisibility Cloak,” Hermione finishes. Her mind casts back to when she read the small blip in the _Daily Prophet._

_He and another prisoner having escaped from Azkaban for the first time in centuries since its construction. Although the other prisoner was killed, Black managed to slip away . . ._ Winky might have been in on the plot as well.

“Where is Pettigrew?”

“I don’t know. He might be with Our Lord.”

“Why do you call Minister Riddle, ‘Our Lord’?”

“He is.”

“What is his plan?”

“To make sure the I.W.O.R. continues.” Bartemius Jr. answers, and Nevarmōril tells her that there is more to his story.

“Why was Winky on loan to Bellatrix?”

“She needed to be away from the house my father kept me in. She kept trying to let me have gifts of freedom outside. Bellatrix hated her name, so she called her Poppy.” Hermione hums.

“So, you two went to the Quidditch World Cup together, and Bellatrix knew about you being there.”

“Yes, we went. No, she didn’t know. She thought my father was pushing his elf onto her.”

“I see the life of a minion is wasted on you, you’d make an brilliant actor,” Hermione pauses, realizing the sun is low in the sky.

“One last thing: how did Minister Riddle find you?”

“My father was clumsy. He had a fright when I broke free of Winky, and wasn’t paying attention to his lies. Our Lord followed him and found me. He had Bellatrix help me plan everything to infiltrate Hogwarts.” He says. No wonder why it was going to smoothly if Bellatrix had thought of it.

Hermione stands, calmly observing her prey.

“The Crouch’s must naturally have a affinity for the Unforgivables,” She muses. Looking over at Victor, she _obliviates_ his memories of this encounter.

_Get up._

Barteimus Jr. stands.

“Do you want revenge against your father?” Hermione asks.

“Yes, it’s what I’ve wanted for a long time.” He growls. They look over at his father. She doesn’t want him to go to Dumbledore, and ruin any chance she might have of finding out more about Minister Riddle’s plans. And even with the betrayal, she wants to deal with Bellatrix herself. Hermione doesn’t need to think very hard about her next course of action.

“What would you do to the body?” She asks.

“I’d transfigure it permantly into a bone, and burry it under Hagrid’s Pumpkin Patch.”

“And if people came looking?”

“Scare them away with my Moody persona.” Bartemius Jr.’s practically frothing at the mouth at the chance to off his father.

“_Ennervate_.” She waves her hand at Bartemius Sr.. He jerks awake, gasping in horror when he sees his son.

“A shame you have to go, but who am I to stand in the way of revenge?” Hermione drawls, and Bartemius Jr. raises his wand.

“_Avada Kedavra!_” He roars.

— . —

_Imperio_ = Unforgivable Imperius Curse

_Allows a human drinker to temporarily assume the form of anther person_ = Polyjuice Potion

_Imperio_ = Unforgivable Imperius Curse

_Obliviates_ = Memory Charm

_Ennervate_ = Reviving Spell

Avada Kedavra = Unforgivable Killing Curse


	10. Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intrigue is all abound, and Hermione finds out a nasty little twist about Nevarmōril!

The bolt of green light illuminates Hermione, burning into her retinas, and Bartemius Sr. is no more. Bartemius Jr.’s gasping for breath, the high of the Unforgivable helping him gain some of his mental control back. Hermione presses her will on her Unforgivable, and his building resolve wilts.

_Continue as you were, but inform me of any orders you receive from ‘Our Lord’ or Bellatrix_. Hermione orders, and Bartemius Jr. nods his head. She waves her hand at him.

_Forget this._

He now remembers nothing about her interrogation, she never saw his face and fled their duel, taking Victor with her, and he killed his father. Smirking, she leaves him with his father’s body, dismantling the illusion. Walking jerkily over to Victor, Nevarmōril sinks back into her body with wet slurping sounds.

Her Thrall heals her broken skin as she picks him up, waking him up as well.

“Uh, vat vas I saying?” Victor asks, a blush on his cheeks at his “fumble”. Hermione smiles, rather liking being in control like this. It’s empowering to be the one holding all the strings.

“Nothing Victor, we were heading back to Hogwarts.”

* * *

Lying in her bed, Err’sh around her head and Tyche around her neck, Hermione wonders if she’s doing the right thing. Not _morally_ right, but _justly_ right. Turning over, she closes her eyes. All these flimsy secret plots and spies grate on her nerves. A thought comes to her . . . Slithering into her mind, and _Nevarmōril_ approves of it.

If no one sees the constant deception about them, perhaps Hermione will illuminate the world.

* * *

Hermione goes up to the owlry the next dawn, taking Tyche so Err’sh can spend time with Mrs. Norris. Tyche likes the mangy cat the moment they met, and Mrs. Norris becomes highly protective of the hatchling. The post bliss feeling of her Unforgivable still lingers, and Hermione looks back on her decision.

She doesn’t feel sorry, nor regret. Shaking her head of those thoughts, she looks for a bird.

Hedwig flies down, her leg out for the letter to Bellatrix. Hermione smiles at her, when she hears two voices coming up.

≠ “—this is blackmail, ≠ we’ll get him—” Fred and George freeze when they see Hermione.

≠ “What are you doing here?” ≠ They ask in unison, sly smiles on, and Hermione raises an eyebrow, gesturing to Hedwig.

≠ “Who’re you blackmailing?” ≠ The smiles drop. They look at each other, and then at Hermione, who sends Hedwig off.

“How about we both keep quiet about each other’s business?” George says. Hermione crosses her arms.

“Does this by chance, have to do with a fat someone owing you money?” Their eyes go wide, and Hermione waves them off.

“He’s been simpering up to me, trying to get me to use him to cheat. Probably use that as “blackmail” so I can pay him for his debts. Including yours.” She lies, waiting for their reactions to confirm it. They sigh, then nod.

“There’s real no hiding anything from you—”

“—you are the _Heir_ after all—”

“—but could you do us a favor—”

“—and tell us if you have a plan—”

“—to expose him?” They say in their twin-speak.

“I’ll let you two know.” She says, and leaves the owlry.

* * *

After another tense DADA class, Bartemius Jr. calls her to hang back. Walking up to his desk with her stuff in her bag, he looks at her casually.

“Yes Professor?” His eyes stare into hers, narrowed.

“You ever thought about applying for an Auror?” He asks gruffly, and Hermione blinks.

“Not really, not my schtick.” He snorts.

“Then you’d make a ruddy good detective, as a Slytherin. You got potential to do something worthwhile.” He growls, dismissing her. Walking out, she ponders on what she’s going to do after she graduates. Entering History of Magic, Hermione sits at her desk. Tyche slithers around her neck, bored. She licks Hermione’s cheek, whining softly.

Hermione coos softly, stroking Tyche lovingly. She’s slowly wrapping her mind around the idea of the Horned Serpent being her daughter-figure. Asclepius certainly addresses and treats Tyche like her daughter. Still stroking Tyche, Hermione leans against her desk, slowly using Professor Binn’s drones to lull her to sleep . . .

Jerking awake, Hermione sees that everyone’s starting to pack up. Skipping lunch, she heads straight down to her dorm. Digging out her Skull-Hookah, she locks the bathroom. Inhaling the cold, the numb washes over her. Tyche looks at her questioningly. This time, she blows out in a controlled measure, the warmth bursting inside her.

* * *

_A female snake is being stroked on the head, and Hermione can tell the snake’s being held in someone’s hands. The images are blurry, like the snake is half-asleep. Hermione can practically feel the delicious warmth around her in the yellow smoke of the Skull Hookah. A soft beating of something pounding echoes around her. The snake flicks her tongue out._

_‡_Druuuu-ellllllla, waky-waky, Mummy’sss here,_‡ A velvety crooning voice hisses. The snake opens her eyes fully, and Hermione taking in the wall of thick black curls of hair. The yellow smoke permeates the feeling of home. Druella’s handler strokes the snake, and the images shivering in delight as the snake presses lovingly against the hand._

_Druella’s head bumps up against something, and Hermione can see a long pale neck. There’s nothing really special about said neck, but Hermione’s seen it before. Then Druella looks down, and Hermione sneers as she sees Pettigrew writhing on the floor. He’s horrible looking, like someone half transformed him into his Animagus form._

_He’s screaming, and a distinctive black heel protruding from underneath a swath of black skirts hold him down. Druella hisses menacingly, then licks her whit-yellow spaded scales._

_‡_Look baby, it’sss a rat!_‡ Bellatrix coos, gleefully stalking around Pettigrew. Druella flicks her tongue, and Hermione senses she feels happy Bellatrix is in a very good mood. It occurs to her that both Minister Riddle and Bellatrix have secret snake Familiars. Druella hisses, baring her fangs at the howling Pettigrew. Bellatrix taps her Familiar’s nose._

_‡_Ah ah, hisss end and pain belong to Our Lord, but, not all hisss pain._‡ Bellatrix sets Druella down on the hard wood floor. The images pan up to the too wide grin of pure joy of Bellatrix’s face. The Alpha is the embodiment of madness._

_‡_Bite him Druella, do it for Mummy,_‡ She hisses, a hint of a deep crackle building in her throat. Druella lunges, the images suddenly zooming in on a fleshy neck, and red splashes the images. Hermione hears the sounds of fangs sinking into warm, soft, flesh, and thick blood coats her tongue._

* * *

Hermione gasps as the yellow smoke disappears, and Tyche bumps her head against Hermione’s neck. She clutches her throat, suddenly parched.

‡_Isss . . . Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Mother-Queen] . . . Hungry?_‡ Tyche hisses.

‡_Yessssssssss—_‡ Hermione hisses, her eyes morphing snake red when her magic on the door drops. Daphne walks in nervously, her wand out, and Hermione swallows hard. She can _smell_ the Beta’s pulse in her neck. Tyche worriedly looks between them. _Nevarmōril_ growls, stirring along her shoulder blades.

Daphne jerks to a halt when she sees the Skull Hookah.

“What is _that?_” Daphne gasps, lowering her wand and taking another step forwards, and her heartbeat elevates. Tyche launches herself at the Skull-Hookah, and she and it disappear. The scent of blood coming from Daphne catches Hermione’s attention. She and _Nevarmōril_ act as one, and the Beta’s scream is silenced when their morphed fangs claim a soft jugular.

They moan as they trap their prey underneath their body, drinking life from the red liquid inside their prey. The _Nevarmōril_ part of them emerges from the Hermione part of them, and it terrifies their prey. They layer their Thrall and magic on the walls of their den, allowing their prey to thrash and holler as much as it wants.

Then their prey does something stupid. It stabs her with its magic-stick, and pain lashes through them—her. Hermione roars, throwing herself off her prey—no; not prey; _Daphne_. _Nevarmōril_ rages, trying to merge her to it again as them. Blood coats her mouth, and Hermione whimpers at the divine taste of it.

_No_.

Those are _Nevarmōril’s_ thoughts, not hers. Hermione curls into herself, whimpering as warring thoughts clash in her mind. Her _Nevarmōril_-tail lashes about, and her spikes twitch. Then she realizes she can smell calming Beta pheromones, and it gives _Nevarmōril_ a pause. Hermione curls tighter, tucking her head against her chest. She slowly starts to hear the soft, pitiful pleading from Daphne.

“. . . Didn’t know, I’m _so sorry_, I should of realized, _Mio_, look at me, please, Mio, _please_, I’ll help you, we’ll get that _thing_ out of you, Professor Snape will know how, Mio, I don’t blame you, I—”

At those words Hermione snaps her head up, her snake-red eyes blazing. She takes in Daphne’s ashen complextion, the bleeding gouges in her neck, and snarls. Daphne freezes, her hand stopping in the air before it can touch Hermione.

“You should.” She growls, and her eyes trace a trail of blood involuntarily. Daphne shivers, but slowly reaches forwards to brush a few strands of hair away from her face. Wet droplets begin to patter Hermione’s cheeks as Daphne silently cries. She blinks, and her eyes morph back. _Nevarmōril_ spirals back down as it loses its foothold in her, and it draws itself back around her spine.

“You’re bleeding,” Hermione whispers, and Daphne hiccups. It’s a wet, gurgling sound.

“Well, you make a sloppy Vampire,” The Beta tries to joke, but she winces. Hermione slowly unfurls herself, reaching out shakily towards Daphne. The Beta tilts her head, baring her throat. She flinches when Hermione touches her, and Hermione almost yanks her hand back.

Taking a breath, she lays her palm over the wounds. Daphne takes deliberate breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth to calm herself. Hermione just takes a moment to feel the Beta under her hand, and then funnels her Thrall down her fingers.

Daphne gasps, her eyes roll back into her skull as Hermione’s Thrall slithers under her skin, healing the torn muscles. Hermione watches detachedly as Daphne’s flesh heals, leaving a savage looking series of bite-scars. She stares at them sadly, and drops her hand. Daphne’s still blissed out from her Thrall, and Hermione can’t seem to pull her Thrall from the Beta.

Picking Daphne up, Hermione carries her to her bed, and turns to leave when a hand stops her.

“Stay, please?” The soft question grabs at Hermione.

“I’m sorry.” And she pulls her Thrall away, bringing down her enchantments on the dorm walls as she leaves.

* * *

Hermione doesn’t go to class. Instead, she haunts the quiet halls, deep in thought. Motion to her right catches her eye, and she pauses by a window. Looking down on the long bridge from the Boathouse to the Courtyard, a group of black robbed figures walk confidently towards Hogwarts.

Hermione spies distinctive, black curls leading the prowl, and she tenses. Silently, she watches as Bellatrix Black and the Alpha’s group of Aurors stride into the Courtyard. A shock of bright, bubblegum pink hair keeps orbiting around Bellatrix, and Hermione wonders why Bellatrix decided to bring Tonks along.

All the other Aurors with Bellatrix are grim, hard-set, and radiate a assuredness that only comes with lots of experience. In contrast, Tonks is but a child. The few students in the Courtyard stop and stare at the procession, and Hermione notices Bellatrix stare at the Beauxbatons students. Hermione narrows her eyes at that.

Her attention switches to the Veela Alpha, and she places a hand on the cold glass. Lukia Caterwatt is huddled up against Fleur’s side, and Hermione glowers. _Nevarmōril_ presses against her mind questioningly, as if asking for permission this time will grant it what it wants. She shakes her head, and it reluctantly recedes a little.

A pop sounds next to her, and Tyche reappears, this time with Err’sh in tow. They clamor onto her, and she lets them. Silently, they all watch Fleur talking animatedly with the Veela Beta.

_She will have to go._

They think, and the _Nevarmōril_ part of them eats away at a bad memory.

* * *

“Why did they have to schedule the exams on the day of the Third Test! I’m going to die from stress!” Pansy yells, throwing her hands into her hair. Hermione rolls her eyes, and reclines further. Relaxing in the Common Room, Hermione is basking in the warmth under a few rare sunbeams on her chair. Tyche and Daphne are enjoying it as well.

The Beta has been very clingy all of a sudden, even more so than her sister. Currently, Daphne’s lying on top of Hermione, stretched out and dozing softly. Astoria leans against Hermione’s legs as she studies diligently, Tyche curled around the young Alpha’s shoulders.

With the exams a week away, Hermione plans on using that time to seduce Fleur and engineer something terrible to befall Caterwatt. Suddenly, Draco runs into the Common Room, a _Daily Prophet_ in his hands.

“Sskeeter’ss at it again, look at thiss!” He hisses, throwing the newspaper on the table in the middle of her study group.

**Fleur Delacor,**

**“Malicious and Lethal”**

The Third Test is coming soon, and tensions are rising in Hogwarts! Unlike the other two Tests, the Champions were allowed to see the Third one before hand; the empty fields next to the castle of Hogwarts laid out with the foundations of a hedge maze. Upon leading the Champions back to the castle, two of them deviate.

In a twist, they are none other than Victor Krum; International Quidditch Seeker, the heartthrob of a many girls around the world; and Second Heiress Hermione Mendonica! The two have always had a frosty relationship, between being rival Champions and Mr. Krum pursuing a close friend of Second Heiress Mendonica’s.

But this isn’t a love story, oh no! Mr. Krum has inadvertently placed himself in mortal danger! ‘ “They’re always in the Library together—just reading with the other Champions, but I wouldn’t put it past Delacour to try and split them further apart.” ’ A worried fan says. The two disappeared for hours into the Forbidden Forest, and when they returned, they do so as friends.

Is this a romance unfolding? But what about poor Mr. Hawking or Heiress Greengrass? Let’s just thank Merlin Mr. Krum and Second Heiress Mendonica didn’t encounter a jealous, _Veela_, Heiress Delacour.

‘ “She’s always got boys constantly drooling after her, and now she’s after Victor to harm him as well! It’s horrible!” ’ A Seventh year student cries in dispair. It is indeed horrible, dear readers, for let me inform you:

Veelas are a race of magical creatures that take the forms of stunningly beautiful women, using their morally grey powers to seduce their unsuspecting prey. The real kick is their real forms, turning them into vicious looking half bird, half women, with sharp beaks for mouths, talons that could rip flesh, and covered in scales and feathers!

They can wield cursed flames from their bare hands, and use suspicious types of magic! However, what Veela are most infamous for, is their possessiveness. Yes, you heard me correctly. If something they perceive something or worse—_someone_—of theirs is threatened, a Veela will not stop until that threat is vanquished.

In this terrible twist of fate, Heiress Delacour has labeled Second Heiress Mendonica as hers, and has marked poor Victor Krum as a rival! Perhaps she plans on getting rid of Heiress Greengrass and Mr. Hawking next! The judges ought to consider pulling this dangerous creature out of the I.W.O.R.. Consider the risks of more attacks on anyone Hermione Mendonica comes into contact with!

‘ “It’s kind of creepy, how Delacour’s always staring at Hermione, like she wants to eat her. I bet that’s why the Daphne’s always around her with the other Slytherin girls.” ’ When further asked, the student replies forlornly. ‘ “Yeah, before it was just Mendonica with her Familiar, but now she’s like, never alone, you know? She’s probably protecting herself from Delacour.” ’

What awaits Second Heiress Mendonica out of this rising crisis? As loyal as her companions are, they stand no match for an angered Veela. Is this a death spree waiting to happen, or is Heiress Delacour plotting something more sinister?

* * *

A hush falls over the Common Room, and all eyes look towards Hermione and Daphne. Calmly, Hermione tosses the _Daily Prophet_ into the fireplace, watching it burn. Skeeter has crossed a line, and Hermione knows that it’s only a matter of time before the Beta woman gets her just reward.

Daphne watches her carefully, laying a hand on her arm.

“So you’re not bothered by this? At all?” Beta Tracey asks carefully, and Hermione lets out a low hiss, making the air in the Common Room drop a few degrees. All the Slytherins around her freeze, and Daphne releases her Beta pheromones. Breathing them in, Hermione wraps her arms around Daphne’s shoulders, holding the Beta close.

Astoria smiles widely at the action.

“Let it be known, Beta Rita Skeeter is now _persona non grata._” She purrs, and there’s a sharp gasp from her House. Her eyes lower to Tyche, seeing the Horned Serpent snap at a fly flittering about her head. It reminds her a certain beetle she’s been encountering lately . . .

Hermione smirks.

‡_How do you feel about the tassste of bugsss?_‡

* * *

It’s actually harder to corner Fleur than Hermione originally thought. Even with Tyche, Err’sh, and Mrs. Norris helping, the Veela Alpha remains elusive. It’s enough for Hermione to start wondering if Fleur is actively avoiding her rather than coincidence. It just aggravates Hermione since she thought the Veela Alpha got over her one-sided hatred after they fucked.

The last straw is when she catches sight of blond hair, chases it, and rounds the corner—only to scare the shit out of Omega Tracey.

“Oi, what gives?!” Pansy barks, and Hermione pushes off the wall away from the covering Omega. Stalking away, she leaves the pair confused and wary.

“She’s getting scarier,” Omega Tracey mutters, her eyes darting around as if the walls will report on them. Pansy scowls. With the amount of power Hermione wields and her frustratingly secret ability to turn up when one least expects it grates on her nerves.

“I just hope Daphne can temper her,” Omega Tracey continues, and this time Pansy snorts.

“I sincerely doubt that.” She growls, turning around. The Omega jumps, reluctantly following her, and Pansy wants to howl at the unfairness of it all. Beta Tracey was _hers_, now she’s The Beta for _Hermione_. Daphne was _hers_, but now she’s The Queen for _Hermione_.

Pansy clenches her fists. Omega Tracey wasn’t _hers_, but now she’s stuck with her. She’s stuck with the dregs of their year, while Hermione bloody Mendonica swoops in with her bloody hell-eyes and stupid height. Omega Tracey whines at the angry Alpha pheromones coming off Pansy, and the Alpha sneers at her.

“Merlin, can’t you stand up straight?” Pansy snaps, and Omega Tracey lowers her head, and stops. The Alpha continues on without a look behind her. Taking a deep breath, Omega Tracey wishes it could all go back to how it was. Before Daphne switched Alpha’s.

“You’ve been infested with Wracklespurts, Lady Davis.” A dreamy voice says behind her, and a bright smile lights up Omega Tracey’s face.

“Luna!”

The Gamma smiles, and offers her arm.

“Let’s get you cleaned off,”

* * *

During the morning of the Third Test, Hermione’s breakfast is interrupted by Professor Snape.

“Miss Mendonica, follow me.” He drawls, a pained look on his already tight face. Tilting her head, she strokes Tyche, and then follows him to the annexed chamber in the Great Hall. Before she even walks fully into the chamber, she’s slammed into by Elise.

Tyche rears up, hissing at the sudden confrontation, Elise looking at her startled. Annie and Claire are there as well, having received the same welcome as well. Souci, Federico, and Abby stand by, smiling at her.

“Oooh, who’s this? He’s so pretty,” Elise coos, and Tyche hisses menacingly again. Hermione knows she learned that from Asclepius. She taps the Horned Serpent’s nose sharply, but her Familiar still flicks her tongue petulantly.

“This is Tyche, and _she’s_ a bit touchy with . . . People.” Hermione says, letting Tyche slither around her fingers. Elise stills to allow Tyche to sniff her, but her Familiar turns her back on the Omega. Slithering back around Hermione’s neck, she flicks her tongue out again.


	11. The Third Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s getting grim, and someone really needs to do something about Nevarmōril!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay for those who are rereading this chapter (and chapters continuing) I have changed the name of the Mahoutokoro I.W.O.R. Champion's name to Hinode Chouko!

‡_Ssstinky . . . Sssusssjec! [Subject!]_‡

‡_Don’t be rude, Tyche,_‡ Hermione hisses. Looking about the room, she spots Fleur’s parents and sister, Cedric’s father, and two pairs of Russian parents speaking quietly to Victor and Dashi. Her eyes lock on a tall shadow on the other side of the chamber, leaning against the wall.

Eto tilts her head at Hermione, staring at Tyche.

“It feels so nice to be back in Hogwarts, why don’t you give us a tour of your time here,” Elise says abruptly, and Hermione nods, leading her family through the halls. Eto peels herself off the wall, keeping silent as she walks next to Hermione. The rest of the family chatter quietly amongst themselves, but Hermione keeps glancing at Eto.

Her mother hasn’t said a word. When the lunch bell rings, and Hermione leads them back to the Great Hall. She’s very much aware of the looks their way, with such a large group of Veela. Especially to Eto. Draco chokes on his pumpkin juice when he sees her.

Her mother sits regally next to Hermione, Elise on her other side, chatting Draco’s ear off.

Annie and Claire snicker to themselves, while regaling their adventures in Hogwarts to Abby in Velian. Souci and Federico entertain themselves by talking to her dorm mates. It goes without saying that the whole Slytherin House is enraptured by the Mendonica’s and Châtillion’s by the end of the meal.

The day seems to fly by after that, and soon Hermione’s family are seated in the reserved boxes for the Third Test. Her nieces are loudly cheering for her, and she waves. In the Quidditch Pitch, the baby seedlings that had lined the ground now are six meter high, imposing hedges.

The same Two-Way Mirrors that where in the Second Test hang over the maze. Hermione looks over at the panel of judges. Minister Riddle sits in for Percy now, since suspicions have risen about Bartemius Sr.’s disappearance, and Percy was detained. Minister Riddle’s presence has her worried, but Hermioneturns her mind back to the matter at hand.

Surveying the other Champions, she stares at Fleur, willing the Veela Alpha to face her. Hermione growls softly, but Fleur turns her back on her.

“Hey Hermione, we’re going first,” Harry says, breaking her concentration. Grunting, she, Cedric, and Harry step up to the front of the maze.

“Good luck to you both,” Cedric says, and Hermione nods to him. Harry gives him a shaky thumbs up. The gong sounds, and they dash in.

* * *

Hermione takes the first right, keeping her magic wrapped tight in herself. Quickly searching the sky for any mirrors, she morphs into a large Alpine ibex. Trotting, her goat’s instincts are on haywire, alert for any scent of danger. Suddenly she backtracks swiftly, seeing Victor running away from three of horse-size Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Hermione continues, panicking when she sees a Dementor, before realizing they can’t feed on animals. She turns around, only to find a dead end. Pawing at the ground, she trots in a different direction, now wary of the maze changing on her. However, Hermione realizes the maze only targets humanoid creatures when she watches it try to swallow Cedric, while leaving a Blast-Ended Skrewt alone.

Passing by a hedge wall, she pauses, feeling the heat emitting from it. Bleating, Hermione dashes forwards, the tips of her flag tail singing from the blast of fire. Looking in the direction of the heat, she sees a Manticore roaring at Kate. Galloping away, she serves into a single lane, mist pouring from it.

Instantly, Hermione’s on high alert, slowly walking forwards. A low chuckle makes her freeze, and her ears flick around.

“Well well, my dinner has arrived,” A female’s voice purrs in front of her, and Hermione lowers her horns a bit. She morphs back just as Two-Way mirror floats over them. The sultry voice chuckles. Large lion paws step out, and a Sphinx emerges from the mist.

“Oh? I think I like this form better, much more . . . _delicious_.” The Sphinx purrs, licking her chops, and she sits on her haunches.

“Prey, you stand on the path to the Cups, but to pass alive, you must answer my riddle. ≠ Answer correctly on your first guess, I let you pass, answer wrong, I attack, chose not to answer, I let you go unscathed.” ≠ She says, Hermione nods, crossing her arms.

“What’s the riddle?” Hermione asks, and the Sphinx smiles, and recites:

_*What does man love more than life?_

_Fear more than death or mortal strife?_

_What do the poor have, which the rich require,_

_And what contented men desire?_

_What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save,_

_And all men carry to their graves?*_

* * *

Hermione’s clears her mind, thinking it over. The beginning is only hints, it’s the third and last lines that are important. What to do the poor have? And all men carry to their graves. The poor have no money, but hardly anyone is buried with money. Unless you lived in ancient Egypt. It’s the first two lines that stump Hermione. She looks around, trying to gain inspiration.

She looks up to the stars. Plenty of people look for the stars for hope. Hope. That might be it, but why would the rich require hope? Faith? How do you spend faith, and why would the spendthrift save faith? The entire concept of a spendthrift is to go off galavanting with their money.

“Give up?” The Sphinx purrs. Hermione shakes her head. In a grave, you carry nothing with you. You only have what you died in, unless you family pays to have you redressed. Hermione looks up, the answer coming to her. Smirking, she speaks, but her words are drowned out by a shout behind her.

“DUCK!”

Victor roars as he and Fleur sprint around the corner with a Blast-Ended Skrewt breathing down their necks. The Sphinx jumps to her feet, grinning madly.

“Wrong answer!” She yowls. Hermione snarls at her, but the Sphinx launches herself at them. Hermione howls, throwing her hand out, and a flash of gold and a scream of frustrated rage comes from the Sphinx. Hermione blinks, trying to figure out if the sky has turned golden.

A roar shakes the air around her, and she realizes she was pushed down by the beast above her. She looks between large forelegs, and hears and sees the Sphinx’s body being thrashed around. The beast above her jerks to one side, tossing the Sphinx into the fog, and blood splatters everywhere.

Then the golden beast steps over Hermione, and she gasps. The Neapolitan Lion’s face is slathered in blood and gore, the a bloody wing clutched in his maw. He’s much smaller than The Gate, but he’s still the size of a small elephant. Fleur and Victor freeze where they are, the latter whirling around to face the Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Hermione risks a glance behind her. The Blast-Ended Skrewt looks like it’s been impaled by the hedge, and it struggles feebly to free itself. Growling, the Neapolitan Lion advances on them, dropping the wing. Fleur tenses next to her, grabbing Hermione’s hand. They let out warning growls at him, and he stops, sniffing the air.

··You, I rrrecognize yourrr scent,·· Hermione blinks when she hears the rumble. He loses his aggressive stance, padding towards them to sniff her over. Fleur has gone absolutely stone still, her wand frozen from where she was raising it. Victor likewise stays motionless.

··Do I know you?·· Hermione meows, and the Neapolitan Lion’s eyes look up to hers. A purr starts in his chest, and he immediately starts licking her, Hermione gags. Pulling her closer with a huge forepaw—Fleur keeps a tight grip on her hand so the Veela Alpha gets pulled along as well—he gives her a bath.

··No. I’mmm Ghadtuh, but I would know my queen-brrrotherrr’s scent on any of his cubs,·· He rumbles.

»Hermione,« Fleur mutters questioningly.

“It’s alright, he’s friendly,” Hermione says between Ghadtuh’s rough licks. Victor’s shoulders sag in relief, and he waves awkwardly at the Neapolitan Lion, who ignores him.

“Are you done?” Fleur snaps, but the corners of her lips tilt up in her mirth. Hermione struggles to free herself, and Ghadtuh keeps licking her, making her hair stick out in weird angles. _Nevarmōril_ sluggishly sinks down to settle on her hips, as if it has been drugged.

“Yes Fleur—hold up—” Hermione switches languages. ··Ghadtuh, I’mmm clean alrrready! I—we need to get to our Cups!·· She meows, and he grumbles, giving her one last lick before he picks her up by the back of her robes. Hermione ignores Fleur’s burst of laughter even though it sends warmth fluttering through her stomach.

There are at least three Two-Way Mirrors watching them. Ghadtuh looks up at them, and swishes his tail. Taking pity on Hermione, he swings her onto his back.

··Tell yourrr prrride to get on,·· He growls, eyes scanning the skies as he crouches.

“Come on,” Hermione reaches her hand out, and Fleur takes it automatically. Suddenly there’s a flicker over the Veela Alpha’s body, like an overlaying image. One is flawless, and the other is Fleur covered in dark bruises. They both gasp, and Hermione hauls Fleur in front of her before the Veela Alpha can pull away.

Victor pulls himself up, sitting behind her. Ghadtuh wastes no time and takes off like an arrow. As the maze flies by, Hermione wraps her arms around Fleur to fist her hands in the Neapolitan Lion’s mane. The Sphinx was lying; the end of her lane was filled with small Acromantula. At Ghadtuh’s challenging roar, they scatter, and he leaps over the hedge.

Victor lets out a very shrill shriek that Hermione and Fleur ignore. When Ghadtuh lands, all of them slam into the person in front of them. Fleur flinches and whimpers when Hermione’s front presses against the Veela Alpha’s back.

»We’re going to talk after this.« Hermione growls, and Fleur nods shakily. The path to the center of the maze is quick, for most creatures throw themselves to the sides to let the Neapolitan Lion race by. The unlucky few that don’t are trampled under heavy paws. Ghadtuh turns a corner, and the single lane is bathed in fog that glows bright-blue.

Slowing to a loping speed, Ghadtuh carries them through the fog. Fleur waves in front of her face, trying to clear it. Victor has his wand out, surveying behind them. Eventually, the fog clears enough for them to see they’re in the circular center. At least a dozen other passages branch off into the rest of the moving maze.

Ghadtuh slowly turns, looking for any traps, however it’s Victor who spots it before the Neapolitan Lion does.

“_SPIDER!_” Victor roars, and Ghadtuh swivels sharply, the trio almost losing their grip. The approaching Arcomantula is as huge as him, and it rears as dozens smaller Acromantula’s swarm out from under it.

“Go! Go! Go!” Hermione yells, holding Fleur tight to her as she leaps off. Victor loses his balance on his jump and unceremoniously lands flat on his face. However, his uncoordinated move saves his life, for a supercharged lightning bolt blasts over Victor’s body and explodes an Acromantula.

The next seconds are chaos. Dashi bursts through the passage of the lightning bolt, a swarm of pissed off Firedrakes chasing her. They’re lashing their fire sparking tails which set the hedges around them on fire. Ghadtuh and the giant Arcomantula are brawling, slamming into each other without a care for everyone else underneath them. Cedric arrives on the back of a Hippogriff screaming something incomprehensible since half his face is bruised.

Harry somehow managed to pick the one passage without any obstacles, but he’s nearly squashed by Ghadtuh upon his arrival. Victor runs around the place, trying to get to his Cup before Dashi can. Hermione and Fleur have to leap away from each other as a Firedrake and a smaller Aromantula do battle.

Cedric’s Hippogriff rears, and the King of Hufflepuff leaps off his noble steed. Hermione bolts forwards, arm stretched out towards the Cup. Harry races towards them, and his wand aimed at them. Hermione blinks, _Nevarmōril_ twirls into her legs, giving her a boost of speed. She grasps the biting cold handle, and feels the tug of a Portkey.

* * *

Hermione tumbles through the air, _Nevarmōril_ rightening herself at the last moment. She slams into the ground on her knee, panting. Harry, is of course, not so lucky. He lands face first, and Hermione hears the crunch of his glasses. She looks around them, or tries to at least. Heavy, oppressive fog surrounds them, concealing everything from their view; including their Cup which has rolled away.

Harry groans, rolling onto his side. Hermione waves her hand in his direction and his glasses fix themselves. He startles, looking over at her.

“Oh, thanks,” He says, his soft voice loud in the silence.

“Where are we?” He whispers, getting to his feet under him.

“I don’t know,”

“Well, ‘_I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto’_,” Harry chuckles, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

“‘_There’s no place like home_’,” She quotes, and Harry shoots her a surprised look.

“You’ve read _Wizard of Oz?_” He asks as they cautiously stand. Hermione opens her mouth to reply, when a shriek to their left pierces the stillness.

* * *

They whirl around to face the sound—and see Fleur. The Veela Alpha groans, and Hermione instantly envelops her in a hug. Fleur jerks, but then returns it with a large, relieved sigh.

»Where are we?« Fleur asks. Another yell sounds, and Victor lands on his arse. He’s quick to get back to his feet, and his eyes widen when he sees them.

“Herm-own-ninny, Fla-err, Harry, are you alright?” He asks, hurrying over to them.

“As much as we can be,” Harry replies, trying to look through the fog.

“We need our Cups,” Hermione says, and raises her hand. Fleur and Victor raise their wands, summoning—and nothing happens.

“Bugger,” Harry curses. Hermione and Fleur stand, and the quartet put their backs together, trying to survey the land.

“I suppose we’ll just have to find them the old fashioned way,” Hermione murmurs, and a breeze moans ominously. She might skin Bartemius Jr. for this.

“Vhere, I saw somving,” Victor hisses, aiming his wand at a clear patch in the fog.

“Careful, eet could be a trap,” Fleur whispers.

“We’re already _in_ the trap.” Hermione mutters. But they slowly proceed forwards, heads swiveling, when Victor stops. There’s a dark shadow in front of them, short, and unmoving. They near it, and Harry looks up.

“A grave stone?” He mutters.

Fleur shudders, and Hermione eyes the hooded statue of the grim reaper, the butt of it’s scythe pointing to the headstone. There’s no name on the headstone, merely the words; “_A Terrible Father Who Taught Me Life Is Meaningless._”

“Zat’z deprezzing.” Fleur mutters. They hear a curse and many somethings fall. They all turn towards that direction, the fog starting to lessen.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! WHERE _ARE_ WE?!” A distinctive, male American accented voice screams.

“Shut up! You just gave away our position!” Another male voice yells, this one with a Brazilian accent.

“Both of you quiet! We need to find our Cups!” A female hisses, her voice touched with a Japanese accent.

“She’s right, did you see they went?” A thick, female African accented voice says worriedly. Victor takes a small step forwards, kicking a few pebbles against another headstone. The four voices ahead shut up, no doubt drawing their wands at them.

“Show yourselves!” The American wizard orders.

“Lower your wands, and we’ll come,” Hermione calls out, and there’s a hiss of whispers.

“We ask you do the same,” The Japanese witch says. Fleur gives Hermione a look, but slowly lowers her wand. Victor is slower than she, but he does. Then they walk slowly forwards, the fog clearing with every step they take.

Then they behold American Slate Champions. The other four gasp at Hermione’s height, and one of the boys’ jaw drops.

“Good lord! You’re Victor Krum!” Hermione rolls her eyes at the American, already scanning the graveyard they’re in.

“Yes, and who are you?” Victor demands. The Japanese witch steps forwards.

“Pardon him; I am Alpha Hinode Chouko, you may call me Hinode-san. These are my fellow Champions, Beta Murilo Henrique, Omega Achen Bharwanit, and Beta Henry Mailson.” Hinode-san bows slightly, and Hermione bows back.

“Well met Hinode-san. I am Alpha Hermione Mendonica. This is Alpha Fleur Delacour, Alpha Victor Krum, and Alpha Harry Potter.” Hermione replies, deciding that she’s going to keep her Alfā status under wraps.

“Did ya come here by the Cups too?” Henry drawls, and he puts his hands on his hips.

“Yez,” Fleur sniffs, staring down at Henry with disdain.

“Why are there four of you? I thought the Russians were competing,” Murilo asks Harry, and he shakes his head.

“Hermione and I grabbed the Cup at the same time.” He explains.

“Is anyone else seeing that light?” Achen points, tucking one of many braids behind her ear nervously. In the distance, a bobbing white light dances.

“You’re crazy if you think we’re going to investigate that.” Murilo snaps, his Brazilian accent getting thicker. A shrieking crackle has them all on the defensive, and they circle up.

“Come out you coward!” Henry yells, and that crackle starts up again. Hermione tries to pinpoint it, but it sounds _off_.

“Oooh, so you want to play? Is that it?” Bellatrix’s voice purrs. It’s deeper than her real voice, a heavy vibrato distorting her words. Hermione growls, wary of Bellatrix’s intentions.

“Now, now, there’s no reason to upset her, she was in such a good mood,” A male voice drawls, and she stiffens, her growl grows an octave higher.

“Are you _growling?_” Hinode-san asks, a little scandalized.

“Merlin, that’s hot,” Henry mutters, and they all hiss at him.

“He’s right you know,” A rough, male sing-songy voice calls out. “Wifey’s—” His voice cuts off to scream of animalistic pain, accented by the howling rage. They all flinch.

“We have to stick together; together we’re stronger,” Hinode-san whispers urgently.

“Any special skills that could come in handy right now?” Murilo mutters. Nevarmōril curls up her spine in anticipation.

“Yes.” Achen says. The screaming rises.

“_NEVER CALL ME THAT WORD YOU WORTHLESS, FILTHY PIECE OF SHITE! I’LL FILET YOUR FLE—_”

“Move!” Hermione barks, and all eight Chapmions sprint away into the fog, the the deranged cries of Bellatrix following them. Hermione snarls when she hears Lord Malfoy ordering other Death Eaters.

≠ “_Kill the spares!_” ≠ He roars.

* * *

A volley of spells light up the fog, as they all cast deadly curses with the exception of Harry.

“Now would be a good time Achen!” Henry shrieks, dodging a green curse that slams into the headstone next to him.

“I’m trying!” The Omegasnarls, hauling him up. Suddenly a gong rings around them, and black fire soars across the night the sky, slamming down in front of them. Hinode-san screams as her hand brushes against it, and Murilo yanks her away. The unnatural, raging, black fire encircles them, and shadowy figures start to laugh and jeer at them.

Victor roars, and he, Henry, and Murilo try to force a break through the black flames with fire of their own. Hinode-san defends the boys, as Death Eater’s spells pass harmlessly through the black fire. Hermione and Fleur look at each other, and start casting protective spells in Velian.

Harry and Achen opt for trying to use any spell they can to bring down the Death Eater controlling the black flames. A sudden onslaught on Hermione and Fleur’s shield makes them all stumble. Harry falls down, and gasps up at the sight. A Dragon made entirely out of soul-blue flames. It roars, ramming its head against the shield, and the ground shakes again.

When another head joins it, Hermione swallows hard. She read extensively about her Great-Grandfather’s exploits to know that they’re facing a _Protego Diabolica_ Hydra.

“Harry! Achen! _Hold the shield!_” Hermione orders in her Alfā voice, and they obey. Fleur’s eyes widen, and she wordlessly yells, but Hermione dodges around her. With a wave of her hand, the shield tightens around the seven other Champions. Leaving her on the outside.

There’s a crackle, and the black flames part to allow Bellatrix and Lord Malfoy into the small space. They’re both wearing silver masks, but Bellatrix’s is completely devoid of any distinct features, and the eye sockets are black holes. Her hair is surprisingly silver, and she traded her signature outfit for a flowing black gown.

She taps her wand—not her bent one—against her thigh a black-gloved hand. Her Hydra roars, rearing up behind its mistress. Hermione narrows her eyes, and she allows _Nevarmōril_ to become one with her. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Have you come to play with me?” Bellatrix giggles in her distorted voice, and they smile viscously.

“Ready when you are, _darling_,” They hiss, and the _Nevarmōril_ part of them pushes itself through their hand and their shoulders. There are gasps from behind them, by they pay no heed to it. Malfoy backs up a step while Bellatrix claps madly.

“You heard her Limpy Lucy! _GET OUT OF THE WAY!_” Bellatrix screams, shoving the sweating Alpha to the side. Malfoy growls, raising his wand, but they don’t waver. With a casual flick of their hand, Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy loses his head.

_Nevermore_.

— . —

_https://plentifun.com/hard-riddles-good-brain-teasers_ = *Sphinx’s Riddle Link*

_Protego Diabolica_ = Devil Shield Charm


	12. Graveyard Skirmish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione does battle in a graveyard, has a stomach bug, and then hits the jackpot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!
> 
> The second part of this dual chapter might be late since I’m celebrating my birthday!  
Whoop whoop! Cheese cake and books!

It’s an odd feeling when one is experiencing serenity. Their _Nevarmōril_ and Hermione watch in equal laziness as Malfoy’s body and head fall to the ground. Only then does the backlash of pleasure ram into them, bringing them to their knees. Bellatrix howls with laughter as they groan, and wave after wave of pure euphoria rales their nerves over and over.

“_BLOODY BRILLIANT! LIMPY LUCY OFFED BY A_ HALF-BREED!” Bellatrix howls, falling over in her mad mirth. They struggle to stand, and they focuses on Bellatrix. A clear understanding that they can kill with abandon flits through their mind, and a too-wide grin stretches across their face.

“I’m going to kill you,” They chitter, and Bellatrix shuts up. She stares at them, perfectly collected as if she hadn’t been rolling in dirty seconds before.

“Do you serve Our Lord, unholy scum?” Bellatrix says coldly, not a hint of madness in her voce. They start to laugh, and their eyes morph snake-red. The Alpha straightens her spine instantly at the change, and her hands drop to her sides.

“I didn’t believe . . . Yet you _are,_” Bellatrix gasps reverently. They sneer at her,and she drops to her knees, still staring at them in a childlike adoration. They prowl forwards, raising their hand, glee stirring in them. The black-fire Hydra lowers its head in submission, when suddenly a Boa Constrictor lunges out from the black flames.

They easily deflect it, but Bellatrix shrieks, darting past them in speeds impossible for any human body to achieve. They whirl around, the _Nevarmōril_ part of them swinging out. But they slam against the shield, and Bellatrix howls in terror when Druella sinks her fangs into Victor’s calf.

“_BOMBARDA MAXIMA!_” He roars, and the Boa doesn’t stand a chance. It’s obliterated. A soul wrenching wail rings tears itself from Bellatrix’s mouth, and they suddenly feel fear.

* * *

There isn’t another sound from Bellatrix, but the Champions’ shield shatters, and the black-fire Hydra exponentially swells, fed by the Alpha woman’s pure _rage_. They take in the situation, and prioritize. First Fleur, then Harry. Victor is lost to them, for he sealed his fate.

Magic and enraged Alpha pheromones swamp the air, and they morph their wings out. Launching into the air, they swerve around the attacking fiery Hydra and swoop towards Fleur. Harry is still under their earlier command, and he fruitlessly tries to bring the shield back up.

Fleur is next to him, trying to shield the dazed Alpha from Bellatrix’s rampage.

“_WHY?!_” The Veela Alpha screams, glaring hatefully at them.

“_CRUCIO!_” Bellatrix screams, the red Unforgivable hurtling towards Victor. He and the other boys scatter, narrowly evading the curse.

“Hermione alone cannot do what needs to be done.” They say, and Fleur snarls.

»_Don’t touch me!_« She bares her teeth, tugging Harry with her.

“_CRUCIO!_” Bellatrix roars again in the background, and her black-fire Hydra attacks everything in its sight.

“We need to leave, let us help you,” They say gently, but Fleur shies away from their touch.

“_CRUCIO! CRUCIO! CRUCIO! CRUCIO!_”

»_Never!_ Alfā! Can you hear me?! _Alfā!_« Fleur screams, scuttling backwards as they approach her. They raise their hands in surrender, and the _Nevarmōril_ part of them retracts back into their hand. The Veela Alpha whimpers as it becomes their tail again.

»We are Alfā, we are—« Suddenly their mouth clicks shut. Fleur looks up warily, and holds Harry tighter. They blink, mouth struggling to open. It’s their Hermione part of them, hissing as she thrashes to undo what makes _them_ for Fleur. They tilt their head—then scream as a stray Unforgivable slams into them.

It’s enough for Hermione tear them—her—apart. She groans as she collapses, blood pouring out of every orifice she has. Fleur scrambles over to her, aiming her wand at a Death Eater.

“_FIENDFYRE!_” The Veela Alpha roars, and the cursed fire explodes out of her wand. The kickback nearly tosses Fleur flat on her back. The cursed fire flows out, forming a giant otter, and it unhinges its jaws to swallow one of heads of the Hydra. Both fires start to fight, and the other Champions dive for cover, trying to dodge around the monstrous fight.

Victor’s body is still as Bellatrix stands over him. Hermione can’t really hear anything, but she swears that Fleur’s singing to her. She sees Bellatrix raise her wand—now her bent one—with a dead expression on her face, and Hermione’s wand unsheathes itself into her hand.

Propping herself onto one knee, she aims, and a her own _Fiendfyre_ explodes from her wand. It barrels towards Bellatrix, who looks up just in time to use her Hydra to deflect it. Hermione’s cursed fire forms into a Horned Serpent, and it and the otter battle the Hydra.

Harry giggles at the sight drunkenly.

* * *

Bellatrix roars her challenge, and Hermione and Fleur answer, keeping their wands straight and true. All three cursed fires battle between them, when suddenly they flare a golden color. The gold expands, racing down to the tips of Hermione and Bellatrix’s wands.

Fleur’s eyes widen as the fires shatter, revealing a thick, golden core. The arcs of fire fly up around and down, forming a golden dome surrounding them. Hermione’s wand is vibrating hard in her hand, and she can see Bellatrix’s wand is as well. Fleur grabs her hand, helping to steady it.

Around them, the beautiful singing of a Phoenix starts up, and white beads of light appear in the middle of the line. The Phoenix song washes away the pain and blood leaking out of her, and instills courage in her.

So they duel with their wills alone, each pushing the beads of light back and forth, neither yielding or taking. Fleur pushes her magic into Hermione, fueling her. It gives Hermione a boost, and three of the seven beads shoot into Bellatrix’s wand.

White flares like a canon, and three Ghosts fly out; a stern looking man who could only be Head Black, Bellatrix’s father, a small House-Elf, and a half transformed Werewolf; and even from behind her mask, Hermione knows that Bellatrix is scared.

Jerking her wand up, the golden line and dome splinters into a golden rain. The Phoenix song dies, and the kickback throws her onto her side. Bellatrix as well. She looks up, seeing the Alpha woman struggle to get to her elbows, her silver mask crooked. Taking advantage of the energy drainage from a Familiar’s death, she aims.

“_Everte Statum!_” Bellatrix shrieks as she goes flying, landing further away behind a few tombstones.

“Hermione!” Hands lift her up under her shoulders, and the pain hits her all over again. She goes limp in Fleur’s hands, and the Veela Alpha struggles to drag both her and Harry.

“Here, I got them!” Hinode-san’s voice says, and more hands assist Hermione in her stumbling. Leaning on them for support, there are screams of terror from the Death Eaters as Bellatrix’s Hydra turns on them. Suddenly Hermione cries out, clutching her heart. She can feel her head pounding, as if she struck it hard.

Her eyes widen, and she groans, whimpering as blinding pain creeps up on her. Her last spell . . . Bellatrix must of struck her head when she landed . . . She broke their Vow. Crumpling against the two girls, she loses control of _Nevarmōril_, and it starts to emerge from here again.

Fleur’s Thrall grabs at her, clawing at any piece of _Nevarmōril_ that dares to break through her skin.

“Come on! We have to go!” Murlio yells distantly. Achen runs towards them, shifting into an abnormally large African Lioness. Hinode-san leaps on, hauling Harry with up with her. Fleur vaults onto Achen’s back, keeping Hermione’s limp body close to her chest.

“VICTOR!” Fleur calls.

“GO! I VILL HOLD VEM OFF!” He yells, dueling more and more Death Eaters.

“But—” Hinode-san starts, but Achen breaks into a sprint, and they leave the Bulgarian Alpha. Hermione is vaguely aware of the other Champions running with them, fleeing further into the wilderness of the English highlands.

Hermione drifts in and out of pain, _Nevarmōril_ unwilling to give her up. Fortunately Fleur’s just as unwilling to let it have its way. It seems like years pass before Achen begins to tire, and she slows down. The other Champions stumble to a halt, gasping and panting. The air is still oppressive with the _Anti-Disapparation Jinx_.

Fleur slides off Achen, quickly lowering Hermione to the grass. Hinode-san and Harry are quick to follow, and Achen slumps down, shifting back.

“What the freaking hell is that thing?!” Murilo roars at Fleur, and the Veela Alpha bares her teeth. His voice sounds like he’s above water and she’s under it.

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Fleur growls.

“Then explain the fucking _bones_ that are trying to come out of her body!” Henry snaps, stepping next to Murilo.

“Stop! Yelling isn’t going to fix anything!” Hinode-san plants herself between them.

“You can’t talk everyone calm this time, Mendonica needs to answer for her actions,” Achen wheezes, staring warily at Hermione.

“You! Did you know about this?!” Henry turns to Harry. The Alpha rubs his head, still coming back to his senses.

“Uh, dunno?” Harry has to shake his head to clear his thoughts.

“Great! We almost got killed, we lost Victor Krum, and we now are mega-lost!” Henry throws his hands up in the air. Fleur suddenly winces, gasping. While she was distracted, _Nevarmōril_ managed to wedge a single spike through Hermione’s shoulder.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Hinode-san whimpers as Murilo hisses,

“Abomination!”

Fleur grits her teeth, and her Thrall pummels the spike, and it jerkily recedes.

“How are you doing that?” Achen demands, and Fleur grunts.

“Thrall.”

“What if we let it out?”

* * *

Harry stumbles back at the barrage of complaints against his suggestion.

“I just mean, if it needs to come out, why can’t we pull it out?” He stammers, hands raised as if to ward off any stray punches.

“Oh lord, is that . . .” Henry suddenly gasps, and everyone shuts up. Hermione’s sleeve is pulled up, and _Nevarmōril_ tries to claw at him, but Fleur’s Thrall forces the bones to sink back under Hermione’s skin.

“An Unforgivable Vow,” Kenī mutters.

“What’s on her other wrist?” Henry asks, and Hermione’s _Revol Key_ is revealed. Achen touches it, then gasps in surprise.

“What?” Fleur snaps.

“It’s a Portkey,” The Omega breathes with an excited tone.

“We can get out of here!” Henry pumps his fists in the air.

“But we can’t activate it,” Harry groans, and the mood sours.

“The Hogwarts Champion is right; we must take the parasite out of her.” Murilo suddenly says, and Harry gapes. _Nevarmōril_ rears at the thought, and Fleur grunts as she forces it down again.

“I’m right?”

“It could kill her!” He and Fleur yell at the time. Hinode-san lays a hand on the Veela Alpha’s shoulder.

“Delacour . . .”

“It’s already killing her.” Achen finishes Hinode-san’s thoughts, albeit more bluntly. Fleur bites her lip, and Hinode-san drops her hand.

“Please Delacour, let us help her, she’s our only hope,” The Alpha says softly, and Fleur slowly relents.

“Back up, and be prepared for anything,” Fleur orders, and the other Champions scramble back. The Veela Alpha takes a breath, and pulls on her Thrall instead of pushing. _Nevarmōril_ roars its victory as it breaks through Hermione’s skin, her blood spurting everywhere.

Fleur doesn’t even care that she’s been sliced by its bones.

»Get. Out. Of. Her!« She howls, and pummels her Thrall into Hermione’s body. _Nevarmōril_ hisses, spiraling up her spine and around her ribcage, tightening threateningly. Fleur snarls, attacking it mercilessly. However it is made from Dragon bone, and it endures her attacks, lashing out with its own magic.

“Her bracelet! Grab her bracelet Delacour!” Murilo shouts, and Fleur glances at it. The _Revol Key_ is pulsing with a white light. Roaring, she slams her hand on it, and suddenly Hermione’s back arches as she screams.

* * *

It’s worse than the first time _Nevarmōril_ bonded with her. Hermione’s body thrashes against Fleur as the Veela Alpha’s Thrall is super-powered with pure Magick. Fleur screams join Hermione’s as she purges _Nevarmōril_ out. It screams, and Hermione hears a loud splashing out as her gut inverts.

* * *

“Great, now we’re both dead.” Bellatrix sighs exasperatedly, crossing her arms as they float above Hermione’s body. The Alpha idly twirls her wand in her hand, looking quite bored for a new spiritual being. Below them, the Champions battle the writhing, bloody _Nevarmōril_ as it tries to crawl back into Hermione’s corpse. The sounds of battle are muffled, like they’re behind a glass.

And they are in a way; for they’re on the side of death.

“Fucking disgusting.” Bellatrix scoffs, and Hermione agrees. She wishes she had known this before she put it in herself. A shudder goes through her translucent form, and she winces as her vision splits six ways.

Bellatrix whistles in shock.

“Now I understand,” She whispers, then looks away from Hermione. A sudden ball of blue fire blasts _Nevarmōril_, and it screams as it’s finally consumed, the winds taking away its ashes.

“Oh, he’s still alive.” Bellatrix’s voice goes flat, and Hermione sees Victor hobbling towards the Champions, his body severely burned from head-to-toe. Bellatrix hisses, pleased at the sight of him.

“Did you get my letter?” Hermione asks randomly, and Bellatrix shakes her head, still crackling.

“No. Why?”

“I asked about why you’re following your Lord.”

Bellatrix goes silent at this.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, your Lord must not trust you if he filters your mail.” Hermione drawls, and Bellatrix sneers. The Champions are trying to consol a wailing Fleur as she curls around Hermione’s corpse.

“So blonds are more your type,” Bellatrix muses, and Hermione opens her mouth to dispute it, but then thinks it over.

“And anything that has power is yours, Bellatrix?” She sighs, and the Alpha hisses.

“Well, I’m inclined to rethink my tastes if said power makes an insane persona in me—and call me Bella.”

Hermione shrugs, then looks down at her stomach when she feels a phantom touch there. More of her corpse’s guts have spilled out, and piece of flesh marked with the Unicorn’s blessing flutters towards them. Bellatrix snatches it out of the air, and gasps when she does.

“Oh, we are so bloody lucky,” Bella says, and pinches a golden line, and it flares. Hermione winces at the phantom feeling. Each piece of the Unicorn’s blessing starts glowing, and the Champions gasp at the sight. However, unseen by the living Champions, magic starts to accumulate from their surroundings, pouring into the scattered pieces of the pattern.

Bella turns to Hermione, a smirk gracing her lips.

“Take us back,” The Alpha says just as Hermione feels a jerking tug on her navel. She feels the _Revol Key_ heat-flashing on her corpse’s wrist, and she leans down to activate it. Bellatrix swoops around the Champions, pushing them towards her corpse.

“See you on the other side,” Bella drawls as they’re whisked away.

* * *

All the Champions land in a heap in front of the maze, the crowd roaring their applause, then confusion.

“Holy shit!” Henry exclaims, and all hell breaks loose. People surge out of the stands towards the eight Champions. The judges shove their way through the crowd, and screams begin when Hermione’s corpse is seen up close. She’s still floating about them, the Unicorn’s blessing still glowing.

Fleur has a gone into shock, and she won’t release her iron-clad grip on Hermione’s corpse. Eto stalks forwards, and it’s like Hermione can see her for the first time. The Veela Alfā’s Thrall throbs around her body, darting out and stabbing anyone who gets in her way.

It’s the first time she’s seen ever seen such a murderous expression on her face, and it scares Hermione. Eto rips Fleur away, and crouches over her corpse, her single amber-blue burns white. Err’sh dives down to Hermione’s head and Tyche slithers on Hermione’s face, licking it worryingly. Hermione floats lower, crouching next to Eto.

»You’re watching, aren’t you, Petite Présage? [Little Omen?]« Eto mutters, and Hermione startles.

“Yes—what do I do?” She asks, and a voice replies.

“_The mark._” A voice behind her says sadly. Hermione whirls around, seeing the same beautiful older woman from her vision with the Centaurs.

“Who are you?” Hermione asks, looking at the world around her that’s slowly starting to blur.

“_I told you,_” The woman steps forwards, cupping Hermione’s cheeks lovingly. For some reason, she can’t place any of the woman’s features.

“What do I have to do?” She asks frantically, starting to feel ropes winding around her. The woman walks her backwards to her corpse, holding Hermione close to her. The woman leans her head on Hermione’s shoulder.

“_The mark._” The woman whispers, and slams her hand into Hermione’s gut, and golden magic brightens the world.

* * *

Everything hurts, like her whole body is recovering from being numb. The pins and needles feeling makes her jerk. Ouch. Scratch that, she’s cold. _Really_ cold—especially in her stomach area. Hermione blinks, pushing off the white, linen blanket off her. Curtains have been drawn around her bed, and she realizes she’s in the Hospital Wing.

Around her head, Err’sh is curled around, and Tyche around her neck.

Sitting up, Hermione grits her teeth, reaching down to her stomach. What she feels freezes her.

“—Death Eaters?” Comes the skeptical female voice, it filtering into the Hospital Wing.

“Vey gave me vese vounds! Not Fla-er!” Victor’s angrily snarls, his accent thicker in his rage. She throws back the covers, and her eyes grow wide. Her Thrall pumps around her, healing the gapping hole in her gut. Morbidly fascinated, she watches her organs slither back inside her, blood replenishing itself.

“Victor my boy, you should leave the questioning to Dumbledore—”

“No! Vey vant to blame Fla-er because of vat stupid Skeeter!” He roars. Finally, Hermione’s skin seals itself back up, leaving no blemishes or scars. The only thing that’s different is the gold lines from the Unicorn’s blessing has turned black.

Suddenly, a little shadow flits over her bed, and Tyche launches herself at it. Hermione hears a very unbug-like squeal when Tyche bites down. Her Familiar darts back towards her, presenting the squirming beetle proudly. Hermione smirks as she sees the patterns like a familiar glitter glasses of one Beta Rita Skeeter.

“Let’s hope Tyche doesn’t eat you,” Hermione whispers, and Tyche bites down hard on Skeeter’s shell.

“—the I.C.W. will be making a proclamation tomorrow about these Death Eater attacks, but let us continue this conversation in elsewhere,” Minister Riddle drawls, and the voices fade away. Hermione grips her death bed’s sheets. She knows why he was here at Hogwarts.

He needed a solid alibi, leaving Bella to do his dirty work for him. But as to why he wanted the Champions dead, still remains unclear.

* * *

Hermione flops down in the silence, replaying the events in the graveyard in her head. Err’sh nibbles her ear.

*We’ll secure Skeeter in your trunk, don’t you worry,* He whistles comfortingly, and Tyche nods. Hermione waves her hand, and the window behind her bed opens, allowing Err’sh to fly out with Tyche around his neck. Their absence leaves a lonely air, and Hermione curls into a ball, thinking absent thoughts.

Not a second later, her _Revol Key_ heat-flashes. Hermione raises her wrist, and after a second of hesitation, clenches her fingers twice. Instantly she’s hit with Harold, Neville, and Luna’s voices.

_You’re alive!_ — Harold exclaims. It’s like he’s talking through a paper door.

_Are you okay?!_ — Neville.

_Hello my Liege-Lady, how do you feel?_ — Luna.

_Cold._ — Hermione replies, and she hears Luna start humming her tune.

_No one knew if you were dying, or dead,_ — Neville.

_I think I did die,_ — Hermione.

_Oh, of course you did my Liege-Lady. Graveyards are used for housing corpses._ — Luna.

_What?!_ — Harold.

_Graveyard?!_ — Neville. Hermione then briefly explains the events that transpired.

_That’s why Barty Jr. was here! To make sure you guys got to the graveyard!_ — Neville.

_Turns out Moody was the Death Eater, Barty Jr.! He kept the real Moody in a trunk!_ — Harold.

_It was Snape who took him down!_ — Neville.

_The Alpha admitted to having killed his own father, and then he killed himself,_ — Harold.

_Dumbledore infested the other Champions’s heads with Whackspurts so they would be easier to _obliviate_._ — Luna. Hermione growls at that, but cuts herself off when she hears the Hospital Wing doors open. Luna somehow picks up on that as well.

_After you’re done my Liege-Lady, I think I have a friend that I want you to meet,_ — Luna chirps, and she, Harold, and Neville disconnect.

— . —

_BOMBARDA MAXIMA!_ = Maximum Exploding Charm

_CRUCIO!_ = Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse 6x

_FIENDFYRE!_ = Spirit-Fire Dark Curse 2x

_Everte Statum_ = Throwing Spell

_Contrarium Spectrum_ = Anti-Disapparition Jinx (Latin: Opposite Apparition)

_Forces one to speak the truth_ = Veritaserum Potion

_Obliviate_ = Memory Charm


	13. Summer Of Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s fourth summer kicks off!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of a bridge between Year four and Summer four,

»Weak. Faster.« Eto drawls coldly. Hermione straightens, breathing deeply, and prepares herself. The moment she got back to the Mendonica Palace—which enveloped her lovingly—Eto’s been training her non-stop, pushing Hermione to the brink at the end of each day.

Tyche’s decent opinion of Eto has soured because of this.

‡_Thisss isss . . . No way . . . To treat . . . A Sssueeensss! [Queen!]_‡ She hisses furiously when Hermione trudges up the stairs to her room. She shudders at the thought of Eto teaching her how to Apparate.

‡_Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother], do . . . You want . . .Me to . . .Poissson the . . .Her?_‡ Tyche hisses concerned. Hermione waves her off, getting into a much needed shower. An hour later, she walks out naked, still dripping wet. Stretching, Hermione morphs into her Ancient Chimoretis form, settling down on the floor.

She recently discovered that sleeping in her Soul form heals her soreness and energizes her faster, and Hermione makes it a habit. Err’sh flaps to her dragon head’s horns, settling down for the night. Tyche slithers over her body to her snake head, curling up with at that end. Yawning, she falls deep asleep, dreaming of the last day of her Fourth year.

* * *

Three sets of hesitant footsteps had approached her bed, and Hermione straightened when she recognized the scents.

“. . . Are you sure?” Daphne whispered nervously.

“I’ve never been less sure in my life Daph, but this is all we got,” Beta Tracey whispered back.

“Alfā?” Astoria gasped in surprise, and she was the first to rush through the curtains. Hermione grunted as the full force of the young Alpha slammed into her, and suddenly she was being smuggled into another death.

“Oh Merlin, oh Merlin, oh Merlin,” Daphne kept chanting, tightening her arms around Hermione’s neck. Beta Tracey just buried her face into Hermione’s shoulder, while Astoria didn’t let go of Hermione’s waist. They all were crying.

“I’m here, I’m alright,” She cooed, releasing her Alfā pheromones, and the girls sagged, relief pouring off them.

“I thought you died.” Daphne confessed in a small voice. Beta Tracey nodded, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Hermione leaned forward, resting her forehead against Daphne’s.

“It takes more than one measly spell to kill me,” Hermione drawled softly, and Daphne growled. Beta Tracey saw the other Beta’s look, and she took Astoria’s arm.

“We’ll leave you two to talk,” The Beta said, but Astoria squawked.

“I’m staying!”

“No you’re not!” Beta Tracey retorted, and with a strength that Hermione didn’t know she possessed, she dragged the complaining young Alpha out of the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Left alone, Hermione and Daphne just stared at each other.

“Do you have any other things I should know about you other than miraculous, secret, life-regenerating abilities?” Daphne said, settling down next to Hermione.

“Well, I’m a Alfā,”

Daphne didn’t even blink at that statement.

“I already suspected that, but go on,”

“I’m also a Veela.”

“_What?!_”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Hermione’s question has Daphne smacking her forehead in frustration.

“No Hermione, it sure was bloody not, although it does explain a few things,” The Beta groaned. “So you and Delacour are together, but you involve more people?”

“What we have is more along the lines of a open relationship.” Hermione said, and Daphne sighed.

“So if I wanted to assist you—without Delacour—when you go into rut, you’d be fine with that?” The Beta asked causually, and it took a second for Hermione to process her words. She broke out in a smile, and nodded, trying to hide her enthusiasm.

“Of course,”

Daphne smirked, and leaned back to survey Hermione, her brilliant grass-green eyes searching for something.

“You got that _thing_ out of you, didn’t you? That’s why you came back the way you did . . .” She surmised, and Hermione nodded.

“Yes.”

Daphne smiled widely at this, and ran her fingers through her hair, and then across her throat. Hermione’s eyes were drawn to it, and they narrowed at the bite scars. She could barely remember herself inflicting that wound, as Nevarmōril stole most of that memory from her.

Daphne noticed her gaze, and she leaned forwards again, a gentle look on her face.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind it,” She said quietly. Hermione stroked it carefully, and the Beta shivered, her eyes fluttering. Keeping eye contact with Daphne, allowing the Beta to pull back if she wished, Hermione slowly lowered her head towards the scars. Daphne sucked in a breath, but didn’t move.

Hermione opened her mouth, and firmly bit down. A shrill gasp escaped Daphne’s lips, and she sagged against Hermione. It gave Hermione a thrill, and she lavished her tongue on soft skin. Concentrating solely on the Beta, Hermione methodically massaged the flesh of Daphne’s throat with her teeth and tongue.

All too soon, Daphne was squirming, mewling as Hermione worked her into a hot mess. She could feel the Beta’s frantic heartbeat under her lips, and she groaned, closing her eyes. Daphne lets out a low moan, and she scrambled onto Hermione’s lap, pressing her neck harder against Hermione’s mouth.

“Alfā,” She moaned, grinding down on Hermione’s lap. Hermione detached with a wet pop. Daphne whined pitifully, and she fisted her hands in Hermione’s shirt. She smirked at the Beta, pride at having reduced Daphne to the panting, red-faced desperate little thing with only her mouth.

“_Alfā,_” Daphne pled, but Hermione shook her head.

“Later ma Tigresse [my Tigress], you’re not in the right mindset for this to continue,” Hermione said gently releasing more Alfā pheromones. Daphne nodded groggily.

“Sleepy,” She yawned, making Hermione yawn. Maneuvering them under the covers, Hermione curled around Daphne, and the Beta snuggled in closer, resting her head against Hermione’s throat. She smiled, and let Daphne’s soft snores lull her to blissful sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione and Daphne gave Madam Pomfrey a heart attack when she found them sleeping together. They easily persuaded the shocked Omega to let them out, and made a quick stop to their dorm before they headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast. Daphne squeezed Hermione’s hand before they entered, and at once all sound was extinguished.

Everyone stared at them; Hermione now in her Hogwarts robes; and at Daphne’s bright smile. Then chaos erupted, and Hermione was tackled to the ground by her sobbing nieces. Tyche hissed in fear, and Err’sh plucked her from Hermione’s neck and soared over to the Slytherin table.

The wave of well wishers, crying familiar members, rejoicing pack members, and jubilant Court members didn’t recede, and Hermione was pulled away from Daphne and towards a table right below the High Table. The rest of the Champions were there, and they too welcomed her warmly.

Fleur lept up and snogged her soundly, and screams and howls from the crowd rose five octaves. The Veela Alpha pulled Hermione into the chair next to hers, practically sitting on her lap as she held Hermione close. Dumbledore tried to regain order, but he was quite unsuccessful.

That was until Minister Riddle walked in and everyone settled, but Hermione’s eyes were riveted on the very much alive Bellatrix Black standing at the Great Hall’s doors. She raised an eyebrow at Hermione. Minister Riddle cleared his throat, and stood behind the podium.

“First, let me give my condolences to the eight Champions who had to go through such a traumatic experience,” He paused, looking over the eight Champions.

“Now, due to these recent mass terror attacks, the I.C.W. have decided to cancel the final Test, and all Champions return to their own schools as quickly as possible.”

Whispers started up, and Minister Riddle let them go on for a bit before speaking again.

“Now, I have permission to release the final scores fo the final Champions,” Minister Riddle waved his wand, and a two columns of writing appeared above him.

_1st Hogwarts H. Mendonica – 147 points_

_ 6th Castelobruxo M. Henrique – 146 points_

_ 7th Durmstrang V. Krum – 142 points_

_ 3rd Mahoutohoro C. Hinode – 141 points_

_ 4th Beauxbatons F. Delacour – 140 points_

_ 5th Uagadou A. Bharwani – 139 points_

_ 1st Hogwarts H. Potter – 137 poitns_

_ 2nd Ilvermorny H. Mailson – 131 points_

* * *

There’s a shocked silence, then all of Hogwarts jumped up, roaring. Even the other Champions were standing, applauding for Hermione’s win. It took Minister Riddle several minutes to regain order. In the end, he addressed the American Slate Champions personally.

“I have arranged a Portkey to take you back to Ilvermorny, and it shall activate in seven minutes.” He said, then walked out of the Great Hall. Bella gave Hermione wink as she sauntered out. Eto made her way over to Hermione, smiling proudly. Her mother gathered Hermione in tight hug, kissing the top of her head.

Right when she released her, Hermione’s nieces tackled her in their exuberance. After the rest of her family congratulated her, her school mates surrounded her. Fleur and Daphne have wedged themselves by her sides, and Hermione took hold of both their hands.

Luna passed by, placing a hand on Hermione’s back, and both of them smile when the Gamma sent a little trickle of her magic into Hermione’s. And unseen by Hermione, Daphne and Fleur eyed each other and the glamoured bite marks on their throats.

At the same time, they glanced at Luna, who smiled serenely at them, her swirling-silver eyes glinting white warningly.

* * *

Enlisting Astoria’s help to track down the Weasley twins to the Astronomy Tower, Hermione left the young Alpha to guard the door.

“Fred, George,” She greeted them. “Did you ever manage to properly blackmail Bagman to get your money back?” George shook his head.

“Bloody git paid us in Leperchaun gold—”

“—we harassed him for our gold—”

“—found out he fancies gambling a bit too much—”

“—he’s broke and stiffed the Goblins—”

“—so he bet that you’d beat the other Champions to get the Goblins off him—”

“—but the Goblins claim you didn’t fight the other Champions—

“—so he’s on the run.” They both sighed heavily. Twirling her fingers, her prize money appeared in front of them.

“I’m giving it to you to start your joke shop. I’ll sponsor.” Their eyes wemt wide, and they squished her into a bear huge. She hissed softly, but they chuckled. Nodding to their thanks, George then stated seriously.

“We shall make Err’sh our mascot!”

Tyche rose her head, hissing sharply.

“And your Horned Serpent as well!” Fred amended, and Tyche flicked her tongue in approval.

* * *

After Slytherin won the House Cup, the other two schools got ready to leave. Leaning against a courtyard wall, Hermione spied Victor hurrying to his ship quickly. He was fleeing from a clingy Lavender Brown, and her shouts that she didn’t care about his severe burn scars wafted up to her.

The Durmstrang ship casted off without further pomp, and they were gone. The Beauxbatons lined up near their carriage, looking distinctively uncomfortable as Madame Maxine and the Half-Giant flirted blatantly. Fleur appeared at her side, a sorrowful expression on her face. The Veela Alpha sighed, and pressed herself against Hermione’s side.

»I’m going to miss you.«

»Me too.« Hermione said. They were silent for a moment, and Daphne looked between them.

»As much as I distaste sharing you . . . She seems well adapted at keeping you out of trouble,« Fleur drawled. Hermione shrugged.

»Well, she’s had lots of practice, I am quite a handful,« She teased, and Fleur purred a little.

»Oh I know you are.« Her hand stroked Hermione’s spine, and it sent a warm thrill through her.

“Fleur, come, we are leaving!” Madame Maxine called, and Fleur flashed a smile at the pair, planting a kiss on Hermione’s cheek. Then with a hair flick, Fleur Delacour walked away.

* * *

A tiny ray of sunlight on her Goat head’s face wakes Hermione from the realm of dreams. Blinking, Hermione shakes her dragon head gently, Err’sh waking and hopping off. Morphing back, Hermione gathers a still sleeping Tyche into her arms, Err’sh flapping to her desk.

Yawning, Hermione stretches, her muscles a bit stiff from being in one position for a long time. Tyche likewise wakes, slithering groggily around her neck. Walking over to her desk, she picks up the single letter waiting. The address is to the dead drop, with the Hogwarts seal on it.

_Dear Miss Mendonica,_

_As you are of age, I would like to invite you to a little social group I’m restarting in a month. We discuss the political climate and how to best help the people. Some previous members are meeting at the edge of Hogsmeade, where they shall then convene at a new group locale. Should you be interested, they shall take you to it._

_I also, have the honor to say that the six other magical schools offer an exchange program as an option for you during your Sixth year. This might come to a surprise to you, but I assure you it’s very real. Should you take a year abroad, you shall spend your Seventh year at Hogwarts for personal study, internship, or apprenticeship in the field of your choice._

_If you could please send a reply as soon as possible before the start of term with your answer, that would be most appreciated._

_Hogwarts Headmaster_

_Professor Dumbledore_

Hermione sighs, and she summons a quill to write her answer.

* * *

Standing in front of the Crypts entrance in the Library, Hermione widens her stance, opening her arms. A second passes, and then Hades barrels through, tackling her. Err’sh has to sit on Tyche’s head on a bookshelf to keep her from attacking the Cerberus. Hermione gags when three heads cover her head and front in dog slobber, the beast’s tail hitting two book shelves.

He’s gotten bigger.

#Oof! Hades! Get off!# She barks, and Hades leaps back, sitting on his haunches, all three heads panting. No longer the fleshy, small, and stunted Cerberus, he’s filled out with thick, corded muscle, and his coat has a healthy sheen to it. The Gate has been making him work out. Hermione stands, vanishing the slobber, but the sensation lingers.

#How have you been Hades?# She barks, and leans forwards, petting his heads.

#Good! Packmate-Gate likes me!# Hades howls. He’s also relearning to speak after being treated like a dumb creature. Err’sh lets Tyche up, the Horned Serpent leaping up around Hermione’s arms, baring her fangs at Hades.

‡_My Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss! [Brood-Queen-Mother!] . . . Find—_‡ Tyche’s fierce hiss is cut off when Hades’ left head licks slobber all over the Horned Serpent’s face. Tyche lets out a screeching hiss, and Err’sh starts whistling with laughter. Hermione banishes the slobber, holding Tyche’s jaws closed with a firm hand.

‡_Tyche, I consssider Hadesss as one of my Sssroosss, [Brood,] which makesss him your Sssroosss-Sssroosssesss. [Brood-Brother.]_‡ Hermione hisses sternly, giving Tyche’s head a slight shake. Tyche lowers her head in shame, and Hermione lets her go. Hades tilts his heads, still happy.

#Hades, this is Tyche, your sister.# She barks.

*Well hatchling, aren’t ya going to say something?* Err’sh whistles, flapping to Hades’ shoulders, the Cerberus trying to turn to see the Condor. Snapping her fingers, Hades whirls back towards them, sitting again.

‡_I’m sssorry._‡ Tyche hisses.

*No sad Packmate-Tie-Key!# Hades licks Tyche’s horns gently. Hermione smiles, and Hades looks up at her with six hopeful eyes.

#Packemate-Tie-Key play?# Hades crouches, his tail wagging fiercely.

‡_What? N—_‡ The Horned Serpent catches Hermione’s pointed look.

‡_Fine. We can—_‡

#Yes!# Hades howls, leaping on Hermione—and Tyche—as well. Once again, he covers them in slobber, while Err’sh quickly flies away to safety.

* * *

During one morning training session with Eto, they hear a distant howl. Eto scowls, and Hermione’s glad that her nieces aren’t here, because those summons was a extremely risky move on Tarow’s part. The twins had purchased an empty store front with an apartment above it on the border of Magical France upon graduating.

Combining Claire’s love of potions and herbology with Annie’s knack of office management, they opened the apothecary; the Twin’s Embrace; selling to both Muggles and magical people. Apparently, Kate Duceau also joined them, taking over the front desk work. Needless to say, Elise and Juin are incredibly proud of them.

Abby decided to intern at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, and owled back constantly about the handsome Charlie Weasley. Another howl sounds, harmonizing with the first. Eto rolls her eye, and Disapparates. Hermione takes a breath, blowing out as much as she can like Eto taught her. Twisting herself, she Disapparates.

* * *

Appearing with the softest of pops at the edge of the forest, Hermione and Eto stare at the forest tree line. Eto taught her during Apparation, air is forced out of the lungs by the pressure, thus producing the cracking or popping sounds. If there’s air to be forced out, there’s hardly any sound.

A low growl sounds, announcing Fenfir as he emerges in his Werewolf form. His lips pull back when he sees Hermione, smirking down at her. Behind him, Tarow sits on her haunches, also in Werewolf form.

»Werewolves are surprisingly well adept at helping sooth a being’s soul, so you’re going to spend a month with his pack.« Eto says. Hermione looks inquisitively at her mother.

»But what about my training? Or Harold’s invitation to visit?«

»All of which you shall do after your stay with Fenrir’s pack.« Eto says calmly, pushing her towards Fenrir. Hermione looks back at Eto as the Veela Alfā Disapparates. Morphing into her Direwolf form, she warily eyes the male Werewolf. Tarow nudges her side happily, and they lope after Fenrir deeper into the forest.


	14. Summer Romps With Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione hangs with the Werewolves and learns Pack dynamics!

Tarow and Hermione keep an easy trot pace, while Fenrir lopes further ahead, tracking the scent of a rabbit. The scent of a stream passes her, and she slows, doubling back to it, and Tarow follows her. Padding down the pebbly bank, she dips her head to drink, and Tarow starts to wash Hermione’s shoulders with her tongue.

A few minutes pass, and suddenly the forest gets quiet. They look up, ears twitching and noses in the air. The wind shifts, and Tarow bares her teeth, flattening her ears, glaring at the other side of the stream. A pair of narrow, yellow eyes watch them, and Hermione lifts her head high, baring a hint of her teeth.

The wind is blowing upwind for her, and she sees the eyes squint. Then a small Werewolf hunkers forwards, glaring at them. His head is held aloft, but his tail is low.

#Beta Mark, why did you leave your post?# Tarow demands, and Hermione remembers that name. He’s Tarow’s step-father.

#Alpha Tarow, the Pack was waiting,# The Werewolf grumbles, thinly veiled disgust seeping through his words. Hermione flattens her ears, and lifts her tail tall, and he instinctively cowers at her dominant stance. His eyes dart between Hermione and Tarow.

#Alpha—#

#Shut up Beta. I shall inform Alfā Fenrir of your disobedience.# Tarow barks, dark glee building in her eyes. He growls softly, but lowers his eyes. Hermione wrinkles her lips at him, already disliking Beta Mark Clearwind.

#Alfā Hermione, the Pack is further this away,# Tarow woofs, ignoring Mark. Hermione turns to follow her, loping through the forest, a grumpy Mark trailing them. She lets herself enjoy the run, the stretch in her muscles, the wind through her thick, long fur. Not too soon, they reach the edge of a clearing just as the sun begins to set.

Slowing to a walk, Hermione’s eyes widen when she sees the large congregation of Werewolves. Roughly fifty strong, the Pack are either in their Werewolf forms or human ones. Children and pups tousle and play throughout the makeshift camp, while the adults go about their daily business.

Most of the Pack look up when Tarow and Hermione walk into the clearing, stopping to bow their heads in respect. They enter the center of the camp, all eyes following them. Here, Mark raises his head, and a handful acknowledge him with nods. To the right, Hermione sees Fenrir speaking with a beautiful woman also in Werewolf form.

He turns to them, and rises up on his hindlegs. Throwing back his head, he howls, and the Pack immediately gather around him, echoing howls joining his. Tarow rises her muzzle, letting out a howl as well. Hermione feels the itch to, but she refrains herself. Around her, the snarls and cries of the forced shift rippling through the Werewolves.

Shaking herself, she morphs into a Werewolf form, and joins the rest of the Pack who’re standing on their hind-legs. She notices she’s a little noticeably taller than Fenfir, whose the tallest in the Pack.

#This is Alfā Hermione!# Fenfir barks. A startled yip from a small pup and Err’sh streaks down from the air, landing on Hermione’s shoulders, Tyche slipping off from around his neck and nestling herself around Hermione’s.

The Pack isn’t sure what to make of this, some let uneasy growls sound before Hermione snaps her jaws, silencing them. Tyche instantly loves the warmth Hermione’s emitting, curling tighter around her.

#No one will touch these two, or you die.# Hermione snarls, heads ducking under her smoldering gaze.

#She will run with us, sleep with us, and hunt with us for a moon’s time.# Fenrir barks, #Let it be known as the Moon does shine!# He howls, and the Pack echoes him. That seems to be the dismissal, for the Pack gathering breaks back into what they were doing. Fenrir hunkers down with the female Werewolf, licking her forehead.

Hermione and Tarow lower to all four paws, the latter head butting her shoulder. Following the Werewolf through the encampment, she sees Fenrir’s forced change losing its potency. Most adults have already shifted back, while children take their time. A Werewolf approaches her, younger and female judging be the scent. Tarow perks up, grinning, but the other Werewolf attacks.

* * *

Hermione rolls, dislodging Tyche, and Err’sh swooping down and snatching her to safety. Raking her claws at the Werewolf’s soft underbelly, Hermione kicks with her powerful hindlegs, leaping to her paws, growling. Just as the other Werewolf lands, Hermione’s under her, her jaws around the Werewolf’s throat, slamming her to the ground.

Tarow roars furiously, launching herself at them, but Hermione kicks her away. Grabbing the Werewolf’s wrists, her claws dig into the soft flesh there. The Werewolf’s hind legs lash out at Hermione, but she hunkers down closer to the Werewolf’s torso, leaving the Werewolf thrashing under her.

Hermione’s teeth bite harder and harder, and she hears soft popping in the Werewolf’s neck, blood seeping out. Tarow snarls warningly, but this time doesn’t intervene. Instead, she prowls around them, conflicted growls rumbling from her maw.

Hermione rises her head—the Werewolf still clamped in her jaws—and slams it back against the ground. And again, and again, and again. It’s brutal, but that’s the way of Werewolves. On the sixth rise, the Werewolf whimpers, falling limp as she tilts her head up.

Snarling Hermione stands, throwing the Werewolf down, and she raises her chin to look down at the whimpering Werewolf. Finally, the Werewolf exposes her belly and bleeding neck in submission. Tarow immediately is by their side, her amber-yellow eyes switching between Hermione and the other Werewolf.

The entire camp is silent, staring at them. Err’sh, who had been circling the entire time, lands on Hermione’s shoulders, screeching and flaring his wings at the prone Werewolf. Tyche wraps herself smug around Hermione’s neck.

‡_Ssservesss the . . . Mutt right . . . For trying . . . To crosssss. . . You, Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss. [Brood-Queen-Mother.]_‡

#Your name,# Hermione barks.

#Leilaki Clearwind of Greyback, yearling of Beta Mark and Lissa Clearwind of Greyback.# Leilaki wheezes. Hermione closes her eyes in annoyance. Tarow’s Omega half-sister. Glancing over at the Werewolf Alpha, she sees that Tarow’s shaking from holding herself back. Hermione grabs Leilaki’s arm, hauling the shorter Werewolf up.

Tarow rises as well, watching them intently.

#Hold still.# Hermione orders, letting her instincts guide her as she gently runs her tongue over Leilaki’s wounds, her saliva cleaning and healing them. Her ears twitch satisfactorily when only the silvery scars are left, and Hermione leaves the half-sisters to find a proper place in the encampment to stay.

* * *

‡_They’re ssstill . . . Following usss._‡ Tyche hisses, looking behind them. Hermione snorts, acknowledging it. She’s at least a dozen meters from the edge of the Pack’s clearing, and the Clearwind sisters have silently followed her. While Leilaki hangs back, still wary, Tarow trots to Hermione’s side.

#You didn’t claim my sister.# Tarow grunts.

#I wasn’t under the impression you wanted me to,# Hermione replies, and lowers her nose to a berry bush.

#I don’t.# Tarow mutters just as Leilaki speaks up.

#Those are poisonous,#

She trots up to Hermione’s other side, her Werewolf form smaller than Tarow’s. While Tarow’s fur is sandy, her half-sister’s fur is bright, dust-brown, and her eyes are sea-green.

#They’d give you cramps worse than the ones you get during a heat cycle, then you’d be throwing up everywhere.# Leilaki barks, and Hermione and Tarow back away from the bush. Leilaki rolls her eyes, and parts her way through the bush. She pauses, and looks over her shoulder at Hermione.

#Well come on, you wanted a den away from the rest of the Pack didn’t you?# She barks.

* * *

Hermione wakes the next day to an annoyed Tyche, an amused Err’sh, and two naked bodies on either side of her. She blinks rapidly, staring stupidly at the arm flung over her muzzle, and then it all comes back to her. Sighing in relief, remembers digging a makeshift den that Leilaki had started yesterday.

Morphing back, Hermione stretches, cracking her back. Tyche hurriedly slithers up her body to rest around her neck, hissing furiously about Werewolves in general. Letting her hisses flow through one ear and out the other, Hermione looks down at the two bodies.

Tarow’s flat on her back, unshamefully exposing her entire front. Hermione averts her eyes, but they land on Leilaki. The Werewolf has short, curly-brown ringlets, and a lean body covered by dark-brown skin. Tyche glares at her, flicking her tongue out, and for the first time ever, the topaz gem on her forehead shimmers with white lines.

As if sensing the menacing aura, dark-brown eyes open, staring up at Hermione.

“Woah,” Leilaki mutters, sitting up. Hermione keeps her gaze on the Omega’s face, and not her exposed front. Her exposed front that Leilaki just so happens to squeeze together with her arms as she leans forwards.

“By the Moon, your _scent_, no wonder I didn’t win,” She says to herself. Her eyes flick to Tyche, then to Hermione’s clothes.

“And what are you _wearing?_” The Omega picks at the loose training garb that Hermione still has on from yesterday. She does admit, it looks like a cross between a riding outfit and a pirate getup. Leilaki’s hand trails across Hermione’s chest, and she snatches the wandering hand by the wrist.

The Omega freezes, remembering who she’s dealing with. Tyche hisses, but Hermione taps her nose.

‡Behave.‡ She hisses sternly, and Tyche sulkily looks away. Behind Hermione, Tarow yawns, waking up. Hermione lets the Omega go, and she sits on her heels, still inspecting Hermione.

#Would you be opposed to claiming me?# She asks bluntly.

* * *

Tarow surges to life.

#Moon’s tide no! Absolutely not!# She howls, and the ceiling shakes over them, raining dirt. Coughing, they escape the makeshift den, Err’sh flying out. It collapses on his tail feathers, and he whistles sharply in distress. Leilaki glares at Tarow, who scratches her head in embarrassment and also to get out dirt lodged in it.

#I still say no.# She barks, and Leilaki growls.

#It’s not your decision to make, it’s Alfā Hermione’s!# The Omega barks back.

Two pairs of angry turn to Hermione, both demanding for her to side with one of them. She sighs.

“May I ask why you want to be claimed—and no side comments.” Hermione orders, and Leilaki takes a breath.

“Because I don’t want to die, or worse, raped by some hotshot Alpha that Alfā Fenrir favors.# She lets out a shaky breath, and Tarow stiffens.

“You think the Pack is big now? We once numbered in the hundreds! _Hundreds!_ Everyone here? They’re all replacements! They don‘t know what happened!” Leilaki’s on a roll now, and Tarow warily looks around them.

“Lei, keep your voice down,” She urges, but Leilaki snaps her teeth at her half-sister.

“Our family is the only ones left of the orignal Pack, the ones that Alfā Fenrir first started way back when he was a yearling as well! That’s why Beta Mark has such a Status even though he’s so weak!”

“What happened?” Hermione asks softly, and even Tyche is hooked. Now Tarow speaks.

“A year ago, three winged monsters descended from the sky, and they began to burn us alive.” She snarls, and Hermione gasps in shock.

“They swept in with unnatural fire, fire that couldn’t be put out and that _hunted_ us.” Leilaki growls, and she looks away to contain herself.

“We only survived because Mother was smart enough to lead us to the river. Beta Mark was useless, although only _he_ got the credit of saving us,” Tarow snarls, punching a nearby tree. They fall into silence, calming and listening to the sounds of the forest.

Thoughts and memories race through Hermione’s mind, and she recalls seeing the Delacour siblings burning the forest. But now, she knows it wasn’t the forest. She closes her eyes, sending a single prayer to Rozanica that Eto didn’t murder hundreds of innocent women and children. That she had a valid reason.

“We are needed here Lei, we can’t run. The Pack needs us—” Tarow starts, but Leilaki growls at her.

“The Pack needs _you_, not _me_. So claim your birthright, or I shall find another Alpha.” Leilaki lays down the ultimatum, and suddenly Hermione feels like she’s intruding in private family affairs. Tarow looks down and crosses her arms and pushing up her breasts. Hermione’s starkly reminded the half-sisters are naked, and she looks up.

“It’s complicated.”

“But you’d become the Alpha! You could change things for the better! Get rid of Beta Mark! Prevent Alfā Fenrir from claiming Mother!‘ Leilaki cries, throwing up her hands in frustration. Tarow doesn’t speak, but her eyebrows furrow.

“Wait, that Werewolf that Fenrir was speaking to—that’s your mother?” Hermione interrupts, and Leilaki’s expression darkens.

“Yeah, and if he keeps it up, we’ll have another sibling.”

Err’sh decides to speak up now.

*I think the claiming is a splendid idea.* He whistles, and Hermione and Tyche turn to him.

‡_Really?_‡ Tyche hisses, and Err’sh nods.

*The Werewolf is strong, she’s got morals, and she can control the Pack of fifty.* He whistles coyly, and Hermione raises an eyebrow.

*Plus she’d be a great addition to your flock?* He whistles, and she concedes to his facts. Tyche sniffs snootily.

‡_Ssshe’sss adequate._‡ She hisses, and Hermione turns back to the two waiting Werewolves.

“Tarow, give me one reason why you don’t want to become Alpha,” Hermione says, and the Alpha takes a breath.

“An Alpha challenge is to the death.”

“Well, the way I see it, you either kill Fenrir and prevent him from seducing your mother and or your half-sister, or you do nothing while I claim her, which will provoke Fenrir anyway,” Hermione stares hard at Tarow. “So, what will it be?”

* * *

A first two weeks with the Pack is tense. They’re on the move constantly, Fenrir sometimes disappearing for days at a time only to return with more newly changed Werewolves. Each time he leaves, the Pack turns to Tarow to lead them, and lead them she does.

From what Hermione can tell, they’re moving south, out of Russia’s cold and into the middle-east. She has taken to constantly staying in her Werewolf form, as the Pack generally find her more approachable in that form. Tyche and Err’sh like that, for they use her as their personal heating furnace.

Tyche’s grown, feeding on the diet that the Werewolves hunt. Now, she can comfortably wrap herself around Hermione’s neck, her head by her ear, and body draped over her collarbones. Her new growth is one of the reasons why Mark hasn’t done anything shady with her.

He always gets cranky when the Pack listens to Tarow instead of him, and his Australian drawl shows when he tries to get the Pack’s attention. To add to Mark’s frustration, Tarow uses her rising status to reassign her mother; Lissa; and Leilaki’s den to a new one next to her’s.

Separated from Mark’s overbearing manner, Lissa starts to develop the resentment towards him that her daughters have. She’s even spending more time with Leilaki, teaching the Omega the Hawaiian songs of her heritage. Hermione’s been invited to eat some fresh-kill with them, and she now knows who the half-sisters take after.

Lissa Clearwind of Greyback is stunningly beautiful. Light-tan fur accents her elegant body, and sea-green eyes sparkle lovingly. She’s also the highest ranking mother to the Pack’s pups. Hermione finds it hard to stay away from such an alluring Omega, and Lissa isn’t exactly making things easier.

Her Omega instincts are attracted to Hermione’s Alfā-ness. Apparently all the Werewolves could smell it; that distinct _edginess_ to her scent that distinctly differentiated her from regular Alpha’s.

So on that Saturday, Err’sh and Tyche are exploring the encampment, Hermione’s sitting with Lissa, the other Omega mothers, and the pups. Well, more like the mothers spoke amongst themselves while the pups and children climbed all over Hermione. Picking up a pup that’s climbed onto her shoulders onto the ground, she startles when Lissa casually leans against her shoulder.

The Clearwind Omega’s apparently learned the art of subtle seduction.

Keeping herself very still, Hermione’s eyes dart around at the other mothers. While they’re all still amiably chatting, but there’s an envious undertone directed at Lissa. Strands of the Omega woman’s pheromones waft up from her, and Hermione struggles not to breath.

#Alfā Hermione! . . . And Mother?# Leilaki slows her trot up to them, narrowing her eyes at them.

#You’ve been invited to Alpha Tarow’s hunt,# The Omega barks, now staring at her Mother.

#Oh? What a great honor Alfā Hermione.# Lissa barks, sitting up straighter, and starts ushering the children and pups off Hermione.

#Yes, a great honor,# Leilaki barks tersely. #Let’s not keep Alpha Tarow waiting.# The Omega pivots on her heel, and Hermione hurries to follow her.

#I can’t believe this—from my own Mother?!# Leilaki growls, stalking towards a group of twenty Alpha’s in their Werewolf form’s. Hermione wisely stays silent. Tarow turns to them, smiling at them.

#Thank you Omega Leilaki,# Tarow barks, and the Omega nods her head.

#Of course, Alpha Tarow.# Leilaki woofs, and then whirls around to storm back to Lissa. Tarow raises an eyebrow at Hermione, who shrugs.

#Two moose were scented further south by the scouts, so let’s go!# Tarow howls, and the they sprint into the forest.

* * *

The other Werewolves part as they run to let Hermione take the position by Tarow’s flank, and the Alpha grins at her. They leap over a fallen tree, and they catch the faint scent of moose. Spurred by the scent, Tarow picks up the pace, eager to catch up to their prey.

Tarow flicks her tail, and the mini pack splits. Fourteen Werewolves stay with Hermione as they slow, spreading out in ambush. The other four are led by Tarow, and they swing wide of the moose scent. Hermione crouches behind a tree, waiting. Distantly, they hear the jeering howls and snarls, and then the pounding of hooves.

They don’t have to wait long, for the crashing of branches and undergrowth approaches quickly. Then the first Moose appears, and Hermione launches herself at it. It startles at her frontal attack, and lowers its huge rack of antlers. She slams into them, using her weight and the Moose’s momentum to fling it to the ground.

The other Werewolves surge around the other Moose. Hermione’s Moose struggles, bleating in anger and fear, and she latches onto its neck. It tries to roll her, but then Tarow is there, tearing its throat out. Hermione gets up, smiling as adrenaline courses through her.

Her muzzle still bloody and her eyes dilated with the thrill of blood, Tarow throws her head back in a triumphant howl. They all feel the call, and they lift their muzzles to the sky, letting their voices blend.

Suddenly, the faint scent of blood taints the air. As one, they all turn towards it, breathing in the sweet, tantalizing scent. Hermione blinks, wonder why there’s a human out this far in the wilderness. Tarow lets out another howl, a hunting howl, and the mini pack take off.

Hermione surges after them, overtaking Tarow in her haste to get to the human before the mini pack does. She skids to a halt at the edge of the tree line, staring at the five witches; two Alpha’s and Beta’s and one Omega; who stand protectively in a semicircle with a small lake at their backs.

They’re dressed in Muggle clothes, but the middle Alpha stands out more than the rest. Her short, dark-auburn hair flows forwards like it’s been windblown, and her willowy build is accented by her one-hundred-eighty-five centimeter height. Her scent of mouthwatering salty smoke draws Hermione in, and she creeps out of the safety of the tree line.

The middle Alpha tenses, and glares her amber-accented, dark-green eyes at Hermione. The eyes are why Hermione freezes in her tracks. Her ears prick when she hears the other Werewolves arriving. Her eyes flick to the one of the Beta’s, taking note of her bleeding finger.


	15. Summer With Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finally says goodbye to Tarow ;) and she finally meets the Order of the Phoenix!

Tarow howls a call for the hunt, and the mini pack echoes her, all of them lost to their bloodlust. Hermione doesn’t need to think about her course of action. Morphing back she snaps out her hand. The five witches don’t have time to be shocked as they’re thrown into the lake.

Morphing back into her Werewolf form, she waves the same hand, creating a bubble of air around them, and sinks them below the water’s surface.

* * *

Hermione’s jaws ache as she helps drag the two Moose carcasses back to the encampment.

#I still can’t believe the humans got away!# An Alpha growls, and he gives a hard tug on a Moose leg. Tarow growls at him warningly. She’s calmed down from her bloodlust, and Hermione can tell she’s thankful that she didn’t harm anyone. Hermione’s thankful that the mini pack didn’t discover the five witches under the lake.

Tarow had come barreling out of the tree line, roaring. The other Werewolves followed right behind her, and they raced around the lake, noses to the ground. Hermione joined them, although she kept a careful eye on the lake. After circling the lake a few times, Tarow howled to signal the end of the impromptu hunt.

By now, her air bubble will have popped, and the witches could swim to the surface.

#You were there, Alfā Hermione, did you see them?# An Alpha asks, and she sighs.

#They Apparated.# She grunts, and that ends the subject. Their return to the encampment is welcomed by joyous howls of the rest of the Pack. Tarow lifts her head proudly, practically prancing to the open fresh-kill space. Hermione lays her part of the Moose down, and the Pack gather around.

Tarow howls, trying to help as many as she can shift into their Werewolf forms. Hermione looks around, sniffing. Fenrir’s absence has started to affect Pack dynamics, and she can see some of the Alpha’s sizing each other up. Tarow barks, bringing order, and the other Alpha’s back off.

She eats first, and in a twist, instead of allowing the other Alpha’s second, she offers it to the Omega mothers and their pups. Hermione settles back on her haunches, ears pricked in surprise. The other Alpha’s grumble, but don’t deny Tarow’s decision is a good one. Without healthy Omega’s, there are no pups, and if there are no pups, there is no Pack.

Suddenly a shrill whistle breaks the peaceful aura. Hermione leaps to her hindlegs just as Err’sh lands on her shoulders, Tyche around his neck.

*Danger Hermione Cage-Breaker! The Beast returns!* He whistles, flaring his wings.

‡_And he bringsss with him a whole new Pack!_‡ Tyche hisses. Hermione flattens her ears, sneering. Chilling howls fill the air, and the Pack shift. Tarow rises on her hindlegs, staring hard at where the howls originate. Suddenly, Fenrir bursts through the trees, still howling. Without care for his Pack, he barrels through the encampment, snarling as he shoves and tosses the Omega’s to the side.

Tarow snarls, but Fenrir backhands her.

#You!# He roars, and at least five dozen new Werewolves surround their Pack. Cries of alarm rise from the pups, and their Pack huddle together against the aggressive force. All the other Werewolves are all Alpha’s, their coats all mangy, and an unnatural evil glinting in their eyes.

They don’t look normal, and the slight sizzle of black smoke emitting from their mouths and nostrils emphasizes that. Tarow likewise gets a good look at the unnatural Werewolves.

#What have you done to my Pack?!# Fenrir howls in his daughter’s face. She doesn’t back down, nor does she lower her dominante stance.

#Leading. What have you done?# She barks, and he backhands her again, this time using his claws. Tarow dosen’t make a sound, but whips her head back at him.

#Touch me again and I take that hand.# She growls, and Fenrir sneers.

#You can’t kill a single Moose without needing an _Alfā’s_ help, much less rule without needing an _Omega’s_ guidance! You can’t even hope to Challenge me!# Fenrir howls, and his unnatural Pack howls with him.

Hermione sees movement in the corner of her eye, and she sees that most of Tarow’s Pack have gathered around her. Leilaki grips Hermione’s arm tightly. Tarow smirks, and Fenrir flattens his ears, raising his tail tall in his anger.

#You wouldn’t be much of a Challenge, Alfā Fenrir. I can smell Wizarding scents on you, and no Pack in their right minds would follow an Alpha who stoops to such levels!# She barks, and Lissa throws her head back in a howl of support. The rest of the Pack follow her lead, and Hermione joins in as well. Fenrir snarls wordlessly, but an ugly smirk spreads across his face.

#You have no idea what you’ve done,# He barks, and suddenly Beta Mark jumps on Lissa. She screams as his jaws clamp around her throat, and he growls warningly. The Pack roars, and Hermione growls. Yet they back up, making a clear space around him. Tarow and Leilaki stare at their Mother in horror, and then rage at Mark.

Fenrir roars with cruel laughter.

#Beta Mark has been loyal to me, as should a _true_ packmate should be! He’s told me all about your pathetic changes to weaken the Pack! I AM THE ALFĀ, NOT YOU! I RULE THIS PACK!# He thunders, and Tarow flinches. Beta Mark shakes Lissa, and she growls, surprising him.

In that moment, Hermione surges forwards, Err’sh diving off her shoulders, and Tyche disappearing in a wink of white light. An instant later, she reappears around his neck, clenching her coils tight, Err’sh’s talons slam into his eyes, and Hermione throws him off Lissa. Tarow howls her Challenge, and leaps at Fenrir. He howls, and his Pack surge forwards.

* * *

Hermione howls, whipping out her Thrall at the nearest Werewolf. Whirling back towards Mark, he struggles to draw himself away, but Tyche has effectively cut off his airway. Stalking towards him, she slashes her claws down his soft, unprotected underbelly. He splits open, and Tyche disappears to leave Mark gasping as he dies a traitor’s death.

The Horned Serpent reappears around Lissa, protectiving her. Err’sh whistles shrilly, circling around the pups. Hermione lashes her Thrall at another unnatural Werewolf, but then lurches back as Cursed Fire explodes on its body. The Werewolf screams, thrashing as its consumed.

Cries of terror rise from the Pack, almost shadowing the snarls and yowls of Tarow and Fenrir’s Challenge. Hermione looks up, and darting across the evening sky, are the Delacour siblings in their True Veela forms. Monisel roars, and she lobs more Cursed Fire at the unnatural Werewolves. Asair and Tarwin fan out, circling around the Pack protectively as Cursed Fire bursts to life in their wake.

Leialaki grips Hermione’s hand harder, her fearful and angry eyes fixed on the Delacour siblings. The siblings make short work of the unnatural Werewolves, burning them all alive. When the last one croaks its last breath, it joins the rest of its vile brethren and turns to ash.

A sharp, painful yip attracts the Pack’s attention now. Fenrir has Tarow on her back, and is trying to rip her tail off her body. Her powerful hindlegs digging into his throat just barely keep him from doing so, and her arms are shaking from trying to hold up his heavy weight.

Lissa and Leilaki gasp at the sight. Then, in a stroke of genius, Tarow leans up—and rips Fenrir’s genitals clean off his crotch, balls and all. Fenrir screams as he throws himself away, curling up in a tight ball of excruciating pain. Tarow spits the male organ away, and weakly rises. She and Fenrir are both covered in blood from wounds they inflicted on each other, although the former looks more worse for wear.

#I am Delta-Alpha Tarow Greyback, and I have Challenged Alfā Fenrir Greyback,# Tarow pants, and she takes a step towards her whimpering Father. The Delacour siblings land in tree branches around the Pack, extinguishing their Cursed Fires. Leilaki starts to smile, and she steps forwards.

#I am Epsilon-Omega Leilaki Clearwind of Greyback, and I acknowledge the Challenge!# She barks, and the rest of the Pack echoes her.

#We are the Pack, and we acknowledge the Challenge!#

#I take my rightful Status as leader of this Pack,# Tarow huffs, and takes another step towards Fenrir.

#We support your rightful Status!# The Pack chants.

#I cleanse the Pack of you, and may all your own go with you, least they find themselves at the other end of my claws,# Tarow stops right in front of Fenrir, and he shivers, blood pooling around his neither region.

#We of the Pack cleanse ourselves of him and his!# The Pack howls, and Tarow drops down, delivering a swift, clean killing bite to Fenrir’s neck. There’s silence, and then Tarow stands tall. Hermione pricks her ears, smelling the change in her scent. The Werewolf turns to the Pack, and raises her muzzle to the sky.

#I am Delta-Alfā Tarow Greyback, and I live!# She howls victoriously, and the Pack and Hermione howl with her.

* * *

The last two weeks in Hermione’s month with the Werewolves is wonderful. Tarow is flourishing as a new Alfā, Lissa enjoys her time flirting with a younger, shyer Alpha, the few Alpha supporters of Fenrir are ousted, the Delacour siblings leave before Hermione can interrogate them, and Hermione and Leilaki have sex.

#Would you stop telling new packmates that?# Hermione sighs, and the Omega laughs.

#But their expressions are priceless!# Leilaki chortles, and Hermione rolls her eyes. Like Fenrir, Tarow continues the process of searching for more Werewolves, however, unlike him, she and a Beta of Wizarding origin seek out the outcast in societies, the unwanted, the poor, and the orphaned.

She gives the potential Werewolves the choice of the Gift, and should they not take it, the Beta _obliviates_ the encounter from the potential Werewolf’s mind.

#Is Leilaki teasing you again?# Tarow asks as she jogs over to them. Leilaki snickers, and licks Hermione’s cheek.

#Oh! I hear the pups calling me!# She sing-songs, and lopes away to where Err’sh and Tyche are entertaining the pups. Tarow sighs, and she leans against Hermione.

#She gives me more headaches than actually leading the Pack.# the new Alfā groans, nuzzling Hermione’s shoulder.

#I think she’s living without fear for the first time in her life,# Hermione comments, and Tarow hums, now rubbing her cheek along Hermione’s neck. That’s the other thing that’s changed since Tarow’s ascension. All three Clearwind Werewolves have gotten very clingy. Tarow hums, and then gently takes her wrist.

Hermione raises an eyeybrow, but stays silent as Tarow leads her away from the Pack, and to the ruins of their makeshift den.

#Tarow?# She barks, and the new Alfā grins at her.

#You are of age now, right?# She asks, and Hermione nods. Tarow grins wider again, and shifts back to her—still naked—human form. Hermione morphs back as well.

“Perfect,” She growls, and pulls Hermione in for a kiss.

* * *

Tarow’s tongue probes Hermione’s lips, and still a little stunned, she lets it in. The Werewolf groans, and one hand wraps around Hermione’s neck and into her hair. Hermione’s tongue duels with Tarow’s, and she suddenly feels the heat building in her. Growling, she pushes Tarow backwards, but the Werewolf hooks her leg. Not expecting that, Hermione yelps as they topple to the ground.

In a flash, Tarow’s on top of her, pinning her to the ground with her full, very naked length. The Werewolf flashes her a smile full of teeth, grinning down at her. Hermione now realizes that the new Alfā grins at only her that way. Hermione can distinctly feel every sharp, lean definition of Tarow’s body, emitting heavy warmth against her dirty clothes.

#I wish you could stay,# Tarow groans, latching onto Hermione’s neck. Hermione hisses as sharp teeth nip along her flesh. She wraps her arms around the new Alfā, strokinglean shoulder blades. Heat pulses through Hermione, and she shifts, and she feels Tarow grin against her skin.

#So this is the best I can do,# Tarow purrs, and her hands start to wander down Hermione’s sides. She gasps, and arches into the digging touch.

#Let me give a bit of myself to you, to remind you of us,# Tarow murmurs, and Hermione can’t stand the soft touches. Grabbing the Werewolf’s head, she mashes their lips together, wrapping her legs around her and rolling them.

Staring down at the panting, flushed new Alfā under her, Hermione smirks.

#You’ll definitely remember me,# She growls, and unleashes her Thrall on the unsuspecting Tarow.

* * *

A day later, Hermione prepares to leave the Pack. Tarow follows her around with a bright, blissful expression, and she constantly cleans Hermione’s fur whenever she has time. Leilaki can’t stop smirking at them, and Lissa looks proud. Tyche sniffs Hermione, and sneezes, and Err’sh whistles wordlessly.

That night with Tarow was something else. Finally, the time for lallygagging is over, and Hermione morphs back. Picking at her seriously worn, and dirty clothes, Tyche wraps herself around her body. She’s a lot bigger in this form than Hermione remembers. The Pack gather to see her off, and Tarow leads them in a farewell howl.

Grinning at them, Tyche turns to Hermione, her gem shimmers with white lines.

‡_Ready?_‡ She hisses.

‡_Take usss to Hogsssmeade,_‡ Hermione hisses, and Tyche nods. Err’sh lands on her arm as the Horned Serpent’s forehead gem starts to glow. And then as if a paintbrush scrapes condensed dirt into a scattered form in one long stroke, so does the world disappear.

* * *

The same effect but reverse occurs when the world reappears, and Tyche’s gem stops glowing. Hermione blinks, and recognizes the door of the Three Broomsticks. Err’sh whistles sharply, fluttering his wings to stabilize himself.

*I hate _Slither-Syasasion!_* Err’sh whistles.

“Oh! Hermione! You’re here!”

Hermione turns around, spotting Tonks and the real Alastor Moody limping behind her. The Metamorphmagus wolf-whistles, looking Hermione up and down.

“What have _you_ been doing this summer?” Tonks drawls, and her seductive tone is lost when she trips over her own feet. Alastor grabs her arm, and hauls her up, grumbling as his beady eyes glare at Hermione.

“Quiet girl! You don’t know if she’s the real thing!” Alastor snaps, drawing his wand at Hermione. Tyche hisses warningly.

“Er, she’s got the Condor, though the Horned Serpent is new, but, ah, what special thing did you have in Third year?” Tonks asks.

“Time-Turner.” Hermione replies, and Tonks forcibly lowers Alastor’s wand.

“Come on, this way,” Tonks says, leading them to the Three Broomsticks’ alley. Hermione leans against the wall, and Alastor keeps staring at her.

“Did you do something to my eye?” He growls, and Hermione blinks.

“Yes.”

He grunts, smacking his head and his magical eye rolls.

“Thought so. Hid yourself from the bastard who had my eye, did ya?” He mutters to himself, and Tonks jumps into the conversation.

“I can’t believe Dumbledore allowed you to join! This is my first year as well—oh look there’s Kingsley!” The Beta points, and Hermione sees a tall, black Alpha striding towards them. She remembers him from Elise’s family history as her third-cousin. He tilts his head at her, and then warmly greets Alastor and Tonks.

A second later, a series of pops sound at the entrance of the alley, and Alaster whips out his wand at it.

“Please don’t hex us, we bare you no ill will,” Remus Lupin says, raising his hands up. Alastor grumbles, but lowers his wand. Remus looks over to Hermione, and smiles.

“Miss Mendonica, it’s so good to see you,” He says, and she nods.

“May I introduce my companions, Beta Elphias Dodge, Beta Dedalus Diggle, Beta Emmeline Vance, Alpha Sturgis Podmore, and Beta Hestia Jones.” The Werewolf says, and Hermione nods at each.

“I think there’s only Dung left,” Sturgis says, and no sooner does he say that there’s another pop of Apparation. A walking pile of rags waddles up to the group, and Alastor growls at it.

“Am I late?” A raspy voice asks, and Hermione realizes with a jolt there’s a wizard under those rags. He stinks so terribly that she almost doesn’t smell the Beta in him.

“Yes, you stank,” Alastor growls, and smacks the rag Beta’s head. Or where his head should be.

“Oh, and who’s the pretty little lady?” The rags rasp, and everyone sneers.

“Hermione, meet Beta Mundungus Fletcher, Dung, meet Alpha Hermione Mendonica.” Tonks introduces, and Mundungus gives her a salute. Tyche wrinkles her nose at him.

“Great, we’re all here,” Alastor grumbles, and pulls out a large top hat. They all reach in to touch the Portkey, and then they’re whirling away.

* * *

They land in the middle of a dingy, rundown road, and Alastor produces a slip of paper from his coat, and hands it to Tonks.

“Pass it down,” He says gruffly. Tonks nods, scanning it intensely, and then hands it off to Hermione.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

She hands off the slip of paper to Kingsley, and the words linger in her mind annoyingly. They all turn to see the house sliding out from between numbers eleven and thirteen. Once the slip of paper gets to Mundungus, it bursts into fire and he yelps. Alastor hobbles to the door, looking around before opening it, and ushers them all inside.

Slamming the door, he starts getting the lights working, and Hermione feels like she’s entered a drained of color gothic house. Alastor keeps a tight grip on Nymphadora’s arm, but she trips on the coat rack. The thing slams to the ground, and the curtains covering a life-size portrait fly open.

Instantly the howls of someone being tortured start screeching out. Hermione barely notices the plaque name: _old woman in a black cap_, as the portrait of the old hag screams bloody murder and insults. The other portraits wake up, and add to the yelling. Hermione puts her hands to her ears wincing.

Err’sh joins in the screaming match, flying at the portrait, attempting to claw her face off, and Tyche is practically choking her she’s squeezing so tight to block out the noise.

“_SHUT UP!_” Hermione roars in her Alfā voice, striding towards the portrait. Grabbing the curtains, the portrait’s eyes widen when she sees her. Wrenching the curtains shut, Hermione whips at the end of the hall when she hears quick footsteps on stairs.

“What the bloody fuck was that?!” Elphias hisses. Black suddenly appears, and his weary smile vanishes when he spots Hermione.

“Met my mother have you?”

* * *

“So this is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” Hermione says flatly, looking around at the dingy kitchen. Alastor snorts, leaning against his chair, his cane propped up against the table. The rest of the old members of the Order sit around the table, leaving the head seat open for Dumbledore.

Molly bustles through the kitchen door, muttering about cooking until she spots Hermione.

“What—Hermione?—what are you?—WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” She yells, and Arthur comes up behind her, trying to calm her down. Alastor scowls at the yelling Omega woman.

“Shut up woman, Mendonica’s here, and you can’t do anything about it.” He growls, and Molly reddens, opening her mouth to scream more.

“Kindly shut your trap and sit down. There are more important matters to be discussed.” Professor Snape drawls, and it shuts Molly up.

“Come now Severus, let’s not be rude,” Dumbledore chuckles as he takes his throne—chair—at the head of the table. Molly scowls darkly, and sits down hard next to Arthur.

“I’m so glad to see you here Miss Mendonica,” Dumbledore welcomes her, and she nods. Black glares at her, but she smirks at him. He bares his teeth, but Remus lays a hand on Black, and the sour Alpha leans back. Tyche flicks her tongue, tasting the hate between them.

‡_He’sss hiding sssomething,_‡ She hisses.

— . —

_Obliviates_ = Memory Charm


	16. Summer Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets the Order of the Phoenix,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware: there is a mention of rape at the end

‡_Of courssse he isss._‡ Hermione hisses softly, staring at Black from under her eyelashes. He grits his teeth and clenches his hands.

“Now, this is merely a preliminary meeting, as the new recruits shall be escorted here by Minerva later today. I have invited Miss Mendonica and Miss Tonks to this meeting so they may gain a better understanding as to who we are, Alastor, if you would,” Dumbledore says, giving the floor to the gruff Alpha.

“We fight against Death Eaters and their so called ‘Dark God’ in every way, shape, and form, using constant vigilance! We’re grouped as such: Research, Espionage, Health, and Strike. Dumbledore and I will be organizing who goes where, and if ya don’t like that, then suck it up.” Alastor growls, and Hermione nods.

“So I guess I’m gonna be Espionage then?” Tonks grumbles, and Dumbledore inclines his head.

“Perhaps. Now, Miss Mendonica,” He and the rest of the table turn to her.

“Yes?” She says warily, stroking Tyche’s head.

“As you are still a student of mine, you shall be assigned low risk missions over the summer. Now, we have decided to place you in Strike—”

“No!” Molly screeches, slamming her hands on the table and standing with such a force her chair teeters.

“Molly my dear,” Dumbledore starts to say, but the Omega woman interrupts him.

“She’s still a child Albus! I will not have it on my good conscious—”

“I sincerely doubt you have a conscious,” Professor Snape drawls.

“—yes, my _good conscious_, Severus, that I shall permit a child to go to fight Death Eaters!” Molly continues, glaring at Professor Snape.

“Why couldn’t Charlie tame _this_ Dragon mother instead of the ones in Romania,” George whines.

“Be grateful that Percy isn’t here, otherwise this whole thing would be a right mess,” Bill chides.

“Yeah, cause being promoted to Junior Minister Assistant is better,” Fred sneers.

“_Boys!_ Anyway, Hermione’s still—” Molly snaps.

“Goodness woman, the girl was invited by Dumbledore,” Dedalus scoffs.

“But—”

“How old do you have to be to enter the I.W.O.R.?” Hermione’s cold voice slices through the low hum of bickering. Molly shuts up, and Professor Snape drawls:

“Seventeen.”

“Quite right Professor, therefore, Molly,” Now she casts a dark look at the Omega woman.

“I am of age, and in the eyes of the law, I do believe that makes me a _legal adult_. So, _sit down, be silent, and do not presume to know what I can and can’t do._” Hermione drawls, using her Alfā voice at the end. The Omega woman’s will crumples easily, and she obeys. Dumbledore looks over his spectacles at her disapprovingly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We don’t take orders from the likes of you!” Black growls, and the tension rises. Hermione looks pointedly at Dumbledore, ignoring Black’s childish outburst.

“Is there anything else we should discuss?” She asks, and Dumbledore strokes his beard thoughtfully.

“I cannot recall anything of great importance,” Dumbledore muses, although his deceptively twinkling eyes say otherwise.

“We can talk about how you come into my house, stinking up the room like dirty dog and looking like you just buried a body!” Black snaps, glaring harshly at Hermione. Tyche hisses at him, baring her fangs.

“Merlin Black, lay off the girl! What did she ever do to you?!” Emmeline snaps back, staring at Black as if she’s finally seeing him. Black opens his mouth, but Hermione beats him to it.

“I fail to see how an unregistered big, black, dog Animagus can find it insulting to call another a ‘dirty dog.’ A bit hypocritical isn’t it?” Hermione purrs, and chaos ripples out at the table.

“You’re unregistered?!”

“So that’s how you escaped Azkaban!”

“I didn’t know you were an Animagus!

“That is hypocritical, Sirius,”

“You should register him Dumbledore, not even you are above the law,”

“That wasn’t your secret to tell Miss Mendonica,”

“Every Order member ought to be Animagi,”

“Remus, you knew?!”

“I wonder if I can morph into a wolf,”

“I think I want to marry her,”

“It was undoubtedly easy to discover his Animagus status, the simpleton is careless.”

The voices pile over each other, and Dumbledore narrows his eyes at her before calling order. Black sits, shaking in his chair as he seethes at her, and she smirks.

“Miss Mendonica, that was a very irresponsible thing to do,” He levels a disappointed gaze upon her, but she merely stares back, bored.

“Meeting adjourned, Miss Mendonica and Miss Tonks, please stay for the new recruit meeting.” Dumbledore says, and the scrapping of chairs signal some of the older member’s exit. Only Remus, Alastor, Mundungus, and Black stay.

* * *

Err’sh flaps to her lap, and Hermione absently begins to stroke him. Tyche keeps her eyes on Black, her tongue flicking in and out menacingly. Dumbledore looks at his wand, then up at the door.

“Ah, they have arrived,” He says cheerfully, and the door opens. Professor McGonagall ushers the new recruits in, and with a tight nod to Dumbledore, she leaves. Hermione’s eyes flick up when she sees silver-blond hair. Fleur avoids eye contact, and slowly sits in the chair opposite of Hermione.

Now Hermione’s whole, I-may-or-may-not-have-been-dead situation might of distracted her for some time, but she still remembers that she and Fleur are long overdue for the chat about her glamoured bruises.

Kate enters with a disgusted look on her face, sitting next to Fleur. Fred, George, and Bill, and they sit next to Arthur. Cedric and Angelina walk in, and they smile at Hermione.Lily walks in with an apologetic smile, and Dumbledore excuses her tardiness. The Omega woman nods, and walks over to sit next to Professor Snape.

Before the door closes, Hermione hears the indignant cries of Ron, Ginny, and Harry. She can also hear Neville and Harold try to calm the riled up Gryffindors down, and Luna’s loud humming.

Low conversations start up, and Hermione learns that Mundungus is a well connected crook. So Molly evidently disapproves of his presence, and she keeps glancing at him during her disscussion with Black about cleaning the house. Bill, Arthur, and Remus are discussing Goblins.

Hermione hears the name Ragnok, and wonders if the Goblins ever tracked down Bagman, for he disappeared after the I.W.O.R.. The others are requesting different noses for Tonks to morph into, while Mundungus and the twins roar with laughter about something.

Hermione’s eyes roam lazily, until they settle on an old House-Elf hiding in the shadows. He’s staring at her with his long ears almost touching the floor. As soon as they lock gazes, he snaps his fingers, disappearing. Hermione looks up when George mentions the screaming portrait.

“There’s a _Permanent Sticking Charm_ on the back and heavy protection charms all over the damn thing.” Black sighs. Hermione glances back at Fleur, but the Veela Alpha still isn’t looking at her.

»Don’t.« Kate says, and Hermione glares at her. The Veela Alpha huffs, crossing her arms.

»No need for that, you can talk to her later,« She says dismissively, and there’s a lull in the conversations. Dumbledore clears his throat. Quiet descends, and he begins to speak.

“I thank you all for coming, especially our French friends,”

There’s a light clap for Fleur and Kate, although the latter scowls.

“Sirius has kindly given Grimmauld Place for our Headquarters, so feel free to stay should you need to. Now, why is there an Order of the Phoenix you may ask? Well, allow me to take you back to the very beginning, back to my early days as Headmaster at Hogwarts.

“There were no Death Eaters, for they had not been named yet. There was only a radical group of Slytherins who worshiped a shadow Alpha with the moniker; ‘Our Lord’. They wish to bring the Wizarding world back to her true, _pure_ roots, that is to say, all Purebloods.

“They looked down on Halfbloods, tortured Muggleborns for ‘stealing magic’, and hunted Muggles for sport. It was a war of shadows, in which the Death Eater’s symbol; the Dark Mark; was created. It was dark times indeed. Imagine; not knowing who to trust, and you come home to see it over your house, knowing you’ll find death inside.” Dumbledore says gravely, and there’s a heavy silence.

Hermione blinks, trying to shake herself from the old Alpha’s hypnotic way with words.

“What power stopped them?” She says in a quiet voice.

“Riddle, our glorious Minister,” Black sneers.

“The day the Minister took his office he hunted down all the Death Eaters he could and chuck them in Azkaban with no trials.” Kingsley says tightly, and Hermione frowns slightly.

“That may be all well for the public, but it means bypassing the right to have a trail, especially for Purebloods.” Bill says.

“Eh, the bloody lot of them don’t deserve trials for what they’ve done, and Riddle is a right paranoid bastard,” Alastor growls approvingly, knocking back a swig from his personal flask.

“Anyway, the Order of the Phoenix keeps watch to see if we can catch any Death Eaters, and as of right now, stop them from gaining followers for their ‘Lord’.” Remus says seriously.

“My dad told me that the Minister’s getting a lot of pressure from the I.C.W. for poor security during the QWC and the I.W.O.R..” Cedric says, and Dumbledore nods.

“Quite right my boy,” Dumbledore glances out the window to the night sky.

“Oh look at that, I do feel it’s getting late,” He says, and stands, dismissing the meeting. Tipping his head at Molly, he bids them goodnight. Fleur hurries to stand, but Hermione darts around the table and blocks off her exit. Kate scowls, but gives Fleur a quick hug before she departs. Tyche slithers off her to follow Black, and Err’sh swoops out of the kitchen.

* * *

»Do you want to talk upstairs or down here?« Hermione asks, and Fleur finally looks up at her. It’s startling to see the lack of fight in those cerulean-blue eyes, and Hermione gathers the Veela Alpha in hug.

»Upstairs,« Fleur murmurs as she leans into Hermione. Nodding, she guides the Veela Alpha out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They both share a repulsed look at the row of House-Elf heads adorning the wall as they climb up the steps to the first landing. There, she spots the Revols, Harry, and Ron. The latter two are holding flesh-colored strings, ears attached to the ends of it descend.

“Oh Hermione! Look, Extendable Ears!” Harry says, waving the object in his hand.

“Last pair that Mum didn’t trash—” Ron says.

“Mrs. Weasley’s been dumping all the twins’ joke stuff, saying they’d be better off working in the Ministry like Mr. Weasley.” Harold yawns. Hermione frowns, and Fleur glances at her. She’ll have to talk to Molly about not dumping her sponsored goods.

“I see, well, if you excuse us,” Hermione says, and she and Fleur pass them. Luna stares at Fleur, her eyes soft with sympathy.

“I am sorry. I will see for you now, you have my word.” The Gamma murmurs only to Fleur. As Hermione choses a door at random, she hears Ginny race up the stairs, panting about an _Imperturbable Charm_ on the kitchen door. She shuts the door, and she turns to face Fleur. The Veela Alpha once more has turned her face away from her.

»Fleur? May I lower your glamours?« Hermione asks gently, taking a step towards Fleur. The Veela Alpha shudders, and sits in a nearby chair. Hermione catalogues the office quickly, and wards it against eavesdroppers. Slowly, she gets on her knees in front of Fleur, and takes those elegant hands in hers. Keeping eye contact with Fleur, Hermione sends her magic sliding over the Veela Alpha’s skin, eroding away the false, magical layer.

Fleur closes her eyes, and shudders as her true state is revealed. Hermione gasps, staring in disbelief at the numerous, healing bruises scattered across the Veela Alpha’s flesh. The worst one is the fading handprint curled around her neck, still dark and brown. Purple haze creeps over Hermione’s vision, and her rage begins to stir.

“Who did this?” She asks, her voice a tightly controlled whisper. Fleur starts to shake, and with a wail, she throws herself into Hermione’s arms, sobbing.

* * *

Hermione holds onto Fleur as the Veela Alpha breaks down in her arms. In halting, choking gasps and wails, she tells Hermione. Madame Maxine had been greatly displeased with Fleur for fraternizing with and even bedding the enemy, and the Half-Giantess sought to correct her prize pupil.

So she broke Hermione’s lover, she beat Fleur, and she lay her hands on Fleur’s skin and ruined her. She sought to fix Fleur with the very same ‘affliction’ that drew her to Hermione, and she almost did.

»S-s-s-s-she t-t-t-took o-o-o-o-our c-c-c-c-ch—« Fleur can’t finish her sentence and another wave of fat tears and more wails pour out. Through the thick purple haze, Hermione’s crying too as she rocks Fleur as her hands soothingly stroke the Veela Alpha’s back.

At first she doesn’t understand, but Fleur clutches her stomach, and it hits her. A howl full of raw _hate_ bursts from her, shaking the walls of the room and shatters her wards. Fleur’s mournful howl joins hers, and the door bursts open.

“Lurch, are you okay?!” Harold cries, stumbling to a halt when he sees Fleur. The rest of Grimmauld Place’s occupants fill into the office, and Hermione clutches Fleur tighter to her. The Veela Alpha buries her face into Hermione’s shoulder.

“You poor girl—this is why we should allow a few more years after one becomes of age to join!” Molly says, trying to approach Hermione while talking to Black. He rolls his eyes.

“Give it a rest, you won’t sway Dumbledore’s mind,” He scoffs, and for once Hermione’s inclined to agree.

“Don’t touch her,” She growls when Molly tries to lay a hand on Fleur, shielding the Veela Alpha from the occupants of the office.

“Come now Hermione, she needs an Omega to help calm her,” Molly says, trying to be soothing, but Luna steps between them. The Gamma stares hard at the Omega woman, and everyone pauses, watching the stand off.

“As you know, Mrs. Weasley, I too once had a mother,” Luna says dreamily, speaking as if she and Molly are in the middle of the conversation. Molly furrows her eyebrows.

“Pandora? Yes, I know about your mother,” The Omega woman says cautiously, and Luna nods happily.

“Lady Lovegood was kind to me, and swore to protect me against all the evils of this world,” Luna continues, her swirling silver eyes drilling into Molly’s.

“She ripped open cracks in the earth, and suckled me with the magic she brewed in the cracks, willing me to stay by her side . . .” Luna’s dreamy voice trails off, and then with a innocent smile, she speaks.

“She loved me so much, she poured too much magic into her brew, and her body imploded as she handed me the last of her magic. My days of suckling were over, and I was weaned in the bloody entrails of Lady Lovegood.” There’s a deathly silence at this morbid tale. Molly’s face has gone white with horror, and Luna just kept smiling.

“A mother’s love is a terrifying thing isn’t it? Such conviction, a child can drown under the weight of it. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Weasley?” Luna sighs dreamily, and Molly faints.

— . —

_Adæsit Ieiunium_ = Permanent Sticking Charm (Latin: Stuck Fast)


	17. Summer To Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione de-Doxy’s, and finds the Black Family Tapestry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMINDER!
> 
> Single chapter updates from now on!

Order isn’t restored to Grimmauld Place for a solid week. Molly keeps trying to apologize to Hermione and Fleur, and only Luna’s presence keeps her at bay. The rest of her yearmates are still shocked that she’s going to become an Order member, and Black won’t stop glaring at her and trying to piss her off.

However, all that is put to the side with the constant comings and goings of the older Order members. It turns out that Grimmauld Place needs a thorough cleaning, and Molly commandeers control of the situation. Fleur, thankfully, is pardoned from such activities, and is holed up in Hermione and Fleur’s assigned room under the care of Lily.

Molly has divided the more permanent residents into pairs, and sent them off to clean certain parts of the house. She’s partnered with Harry, and they’re assigned to a Doxy cleaning in one of the numerous waiting rooms. Hermione finds it an easy task, as she simply blasts the pesky Doxy with her Thrall, stunning it enough for her to toss in her bucket.

Harry on the other hand, struggles with aiming his Doxy-away spray bottle accurately. Every Doxy she stuns, she imagines Maxine’s face on it, and the little buggers fall under her restrained anger. The Half-Giantess is dead the next time they meet.

“Merlin, Hermione, you’ve practically got all of them,” Harry says, and Molly bustles inwith sandwiches. They take a few, and as she hurries away to another group, Fred and George pop in to show her their latest inventions. Harry comes over, grinning when he sees a certain box.

“Skiving Snackboxes?” Hermione says, picking up the brightly colored box.

“They’re brilliant Hermione,” Harry exclaims, and the twins let him pull out a purple and orange candy.

“See here, it’s a Puking Pastille!” He says, and Hermione raises an eyebrow at it.

“Indeed! Let me introduce to you our finest candy so far! ≠ They’re double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you’ve been rushed out of the lesson for the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half—” George starts.

“—which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue the leisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom!” Fred finishes. ≠ She hums, tilting the candy back and forth in her fingers.

“All of which we have on the box description,” George points to the text on the back of the box.

“We don’t want to get sued of course, that is if we get enough merchandise to actually get sued for in the first place,” Fred mutters.

“What if you get feed someone the sick half and don’t give them the antidote half?” She asks, and they shrug.

“They’d be stupid not to—”

“—we don’t know what’d happen if they didn’t—”

“—possible go to St. Mungos—” The twins pause, then stare at each other.

“We ought to put that on the box,” The say in tandem, and hurry out the room.

* * *

Hermione and Harry de-Doxy about three more rooms before they suddenly hear Molly blow her top. Harry jumps so hard he backs into the door, opening it wider. The Omega woman’s screaming berating of Mundungus echoes all the way up to their floor. She snickers at his plight, and she doesn’t notice the House-Elf scurrying towards her, but Harry does.

“Hermione shut the door!” He yells, and she turns to him, confused, and the House-Elf scurries inside the room. She looks down at him, recognizing him from last night. He’s muttering under his breath, unaware of his new company. Harry stares disgustedly at him, and Hermione hears the House-Elf mutter his name under his breath.

“Kreacher?” She says, and he freezes, looking up at her. Tyche, who opted out of the Doxi cleaning and is sitting in the corner of the room, slithers forwards. Kreacher’s bulbous eyes widen when Tyche rears so Hermione can pick her up, and the Horned Serpent winds herself up Hermione’s arm and around her neck.

Kreacher gasps, and his knees start to shake.

“What are you doing in this room Kreacher?” She asks, and he bows low, his snout-like nose touching the floor.

≠ “Kreacher is cleaning, ≠ Young Mistress.” He says, and Harry snorts. The Elf rises, his eyes narrowing at Harry.

“The Blood Traitor spawn mocks Kreacher, bringing its Mudblood filth into Kreacher’s Mistress’s house and squawking at Young Mistress,” He mutters darkly, but Hermione snaps her fingers at him. The Elf instantly drops into a low kowtow.

“Yes Young Mistress?” He grovels, and it sends a little thrill through Hermione at his complete submission.

“Be respectful Kreacher, now get out if you don’t want to help us clean.” Hermione orders, and Tyche hisses at him. Kreacher nods, and snaps his fingers, disappearing with a pop. Hermione sighs, and then feels eyes on her back. Looking over her shoulder, she sees another door on the other side of the room, this one opened to reveal Black, Fred, George, Harold, Neville, and Ron.

They’re all staring at her, and she tilts her chin up.

“Yes?” She asks sharply, and Harry speaks up.

“That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it?” The Alpha says, looking up at Black, and Ron nods. The Weasley twins both laugh, shaking their heads as they smirk at Harry.

“It was bloody brilliant.” They chorus. Black, however, just glares at her, keeping his hands loose by his sides.

“Never thought I’d see the day Kreacher listened to anyone willingly other than my dead mother.” He says suspiciously. Hermione strokes Tyche’s head.

“Oh that portrait downstairs that hurls abuse at everyone? No wonder you ran away like the cowardly dog you are, she must of abused you too, but I doubt with her words,” Hermione drawls silkily, and Black reddens. His hands shaky by his sides, and Harold and Neville edge away from him fearfully. Ron scowls at Hermione, but glances up at Black uncertainly.

“Hey,” Harry snaps, but Hermione waves him off. The twins are silent, but their eyes flit from Black to her.

“As House-Elves get older, they start losing their hearing, and start to go a little mad from not hearing any orders. Giving them a strong order clears their minds.” She informs them. Tyche sees something behind Black, and Hermione looks at it as well.

“Oh Hermione, do you want to see the Tapestry room?” Harold says in a high voice. She shrugs, and strides towards it, shoulder checking Black as she passes. He snarls, but suddenly Fred and George grab him by his arms.

“Come on mate—”

“—just a little bit of fun—”

“—and have we got some fun for you!” They sing-song, skipping away as they expertly drag the stunned Alpha from the room. Ron looks a little sympathetic yet relieved at the same time.

“They do that to me all the time,” The Beta mutters, and he too joins the rest of them in the Tapestry room. The famous Black Tapestry takes up one whole wall. At the top of the ancient fabric in embroidered, fancy letters are the words:

**The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black**

**“Toujours Pur.” [Always Pure.]**

“It’s got all of them,” Harold rambles.

“There’s one of my ancestors,” Neville says, pointing to a name on the Tapestry.

“And Sirius is burned off!” Ron says, and Harry frowns. Hermione snickers at the scorched, black mark. Glancing around the Tapestry, she spots a few more scorched marks. The most recent one is Tonks’ mother, the Beta Andromeda.

“Sirius ran away at sixteen to Dad after his Mum beat him, so don’t go bringing up that again, you hear?” Harry says, and Hermione gives him a droll look. Tyche rolls her eyes.

“At least James was kind enough welcome you into his home,” She says. There’s a beat of silence as they all think of one dead James Potter and convicted Peter Pettigrew with a life sentence in Azkaban. Molly calls for dinner, and the others leave Hermione and Tyche alone.

* * *

The Blacks are intermarried into almost all the Pureblood families, although this Tapestry only includes those who married into the male line. And yet, there’s something wrong with it. Tilting her head, she touches Andromeda’s scorched spot. There’s no line for her husband, or Tonks, which begs the question of how many lines are missing from the Tapestry.

Dropping her hand, she sighs. The blood magic in the Tapestry doesn’t include the bloodlines from banished family members, and most definitely Squib illegitimate children.

‡_Sssroosss-Sssueensss-Sssirasss [Brood-Queen-Mother], we ssshould go eat,_‡ Tyche hisses, nuzzling Hermione’s cheek.

‡_You jussst want to drink the wine that Bill hasss,_‡ Hermione hisses teasingly, and the Horned Serpent sputters. Snickering, Hermione leaves the room. When the door shuts, Kreacher appears, looking at the door, then at the Tapestry. Snapping his fingers, the Tapestry glows, and a few dozen more names appear.

* * *

“Ah, here it is, this is the original Order members.” Alastor pulls out a moving photograph from his pocket. The scared Alpha dropped by, and Molly roped him into eating with them. Alastor points to the people in the picture, naming them.

“See there’s me, Dumbledore, Diggle, Marlene McKinnon, Death Eaters got her, Vance, Lupin, Benjy Fenwick, chopped to bits, Edgar Bones, dead brother of Amelia Bones, Podmore, Caradoc Dearborn, vanished into the wind. Dodge, Gideon Prewett, he and his brother Fabian took down five Death Eaters with them, Dumbledore’s brother Aberforth, Dorcas Meadowes, dead, Sirius, James, Lily, and rotten Pettigrew.

“Here’s Frank and Alice Longbottom, they’ve got scars from some Veela bitch tearing into them, literally—” Hermione snarls loudly at that, making everyone jump. Fleur; whose is skin glamoured currently; takes Hermione’s hand and squeezes reassuringly, but she to narrows a flinty look at Alastor.

“Speak of Veela in such a manner again and I’ll have both your eyes.” She growls, and there’s a tense second. Then Alastor out a laugh.

“You got fire, girl! That’ll keep you alive,” He grins darkly. He puts away the photograph, and goes back to picking at his food. Hermione

“Blimey Hermione, you almost made me get Flying Seahorses in my stomach!” Tonks laughs, and Luna looks up at her inquisitively.

“How can you have Flying Seahorses in your stomach Miss Tonks?” The Gamma asks dreamily, and Tonks shrugs.

“Just a figure of speech,”

Luna blinks owlishly.

“Then I ought to have a Thunderbird in my belly from all this food.” She says airily, and Tonks laughs.

“We’ll make a fine comedian out of you yet!”

“I think I understand, but my Nargles are quite well enough.” Luna replies, glancing up at Hermione and Fleur.

* * *

_Hermione dreams she’s on a stage at the Last Test. There are floodlights pointed at her, but she knows she’s surrounded by hundreds of people in the stands. Taking a breath, she slowly starts walking in a large circle, hand out. Magic starts to condense in the air, thickening. Closing her eyes, she starts to raise her hands to from creatures out of the wooden stage, but something stops her._

_Suddenly, it’s as if her body isn’t her own. A tidal wave of magic bursts into the air, swirling and twisting in and out of visibility. The circle she’s making starts to glow, inside it ancient runes start to appear, pulsating and peeling off the stage. The forgotten runes rise into the air, racing around, merging and splitting._

_All the while Hermione keeps circling, her hands out. The magic starts becoming tangible, magical creatures filtering around the stadium. At the seventh circle, Hermione watches as her body pivots on her heel, whipping her other hand over her head in a_ CRACK!

_The magic booms, a shock wave rolling out, scattering the runes and creatures, only for them to form again, more intense and powerful than they were before. Hermione’s filled with the sensation of completeness, as her body circles, spinning. The circle starts to lift off the stage, Hermione in the middle of it. Rising in the air, it forms a sphere of dense magic, Hermione almost lost to sight._

_The sphere pulsates five more times, then her hands fling out to the side. Brilliant white light shines from every mark that magic made. Winds summoned by the magic howl, rounding around the stadium as the magic itself tremors, then_ implodes.

* * *

Hermione jerks awake, panting as her ears are filled with the soft crooning of a beautiful voice, and her eyes filled with white as she senses Ancient Olde Magick itself caress her soul. She looks down, knowing she should be seeing her hands, but she sees a golden web magic flowing through her.

She blinks rapidly, starting to see color again, and the soothing dark of the night seeps back into her vision. However, magic coats her hands, and she closes her hands into fists. The magic flares, swirling as it changes, and in seconds, a mini Aura Borealis pools around her fingers and body.

It’s everywhere, lighting up the room in beautiful light. Fleur grumbles, blinking as she wakes groggily.

»Alfā? Wha . . .« She yawns, her still half-asleep mind trying to process what she’s seeing. Hermione grins joyfully, as the Ancient Olde Magick sings to her. Grasping some of it, she tosses it up into the air, where it spirals up, exploding against the ceiling in a shower of color and magick. Fleur gapes, then tugs Hermione down for a proper snog.

* * *

Hermione skips cleaning duty, opting to listen to the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ in her shared room. Lily is away at the moment, going on a date with Professor Snape if she heard the Alpha woman correctly. Fleur’s getting restless, being stuck in bed all day. Suddenly, Kreacher pops into their room, bowing low.

“Young Mistress, Kreacher wishes to show Young Mistress a change in the Black Tapestry,” He grovels. Tyche yawns from her place on Fleur’s chest, nibbling on the envy green ribbon. Hermione’s had to tie it around her horns with a Phoenix drawn on it to stop Order members from attacking her. Currently, the Veela Alpha is fast asleep, Err’sh curled around her head.

His Order friendly ribbon wrapped around his leg tickles Fleur’s cheek.

“Lead the way,” Hermione says, her interest peaked, and Kreacher bows lower.

“Kreacher lives to serve,” He rasps. Walking to the Tapestry room, she freezes on the spot, seeing the enlarged tapestry.

“What did you do?” She whispers, and he flinches.

“Kreacher sensed what Young Mistress wanted, so Kreacher obeyed,” He whimpers, grabbing his ears. She flicks her hand, and the door shuts and locks itself. Walking up to the Tapestry, her eyes roam over the new names and lines. Her eyes travel down to the newest generations, when her hand stops over a name.

She blinks, then blinks again. Her fingers trace the line back up to Orion Black. A red line connects him to Walburga Black, his distant cousin. Under them, three gold lines connect to three faces, the middle one burned. The first is Delta John Black, then Alpha Sirius Black, then Alpha Regulus Black.

An old memory of Gellert detailing their bloodline surfaces in her mind. He didn’t know about this, he didn’t know her grandfather wasn’t a Muggle, but a _Squib_. She traces her John Black’s line all the way down to the very familiar surname.

_Jean Joyce Mendonica._

And right under her name, is Hermione’s; not as a Mendonica, but as a _Granger_.

* * *

The name seems to be shouting up at Hermione, and her vision tunnels. She forgot her old last name—she forgot her _birth mother’s name_. She remembers bits and pieces of her old life, namely Harold, but most of it faded away.

“Is Young Mistress displeased?” Kreacher croaks worriedly. She shakes her head, and he relaxes.

“How did you know who I was?” She asks sharply, and he flinches again.

“Mistress saw your’s eyes. You’s have ancient Black eyes, and . . . Kreacher felt the Noble Black blood magic transfer to you’s, even though Head Mistress is more pure. Young Mistress’s the daughter of the eldest Black, even if he’s a dirty Squib.” Kreacher replies succinctly.


End file.
